


God's Gonna Cut You Down

by Rydaer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arthur Morgan's Journal, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bisexual John Marston, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Follows the timeline of the original story, Good Person Arthur Morgan, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, John is quite a fool, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, POV Arthur Morgan, POV John Marston, Protective John Marston, Red Dead Redemption 1 (in later Chapters maybe), Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), but with gay cowboys, high honor arthur, they are both stubborn omg, white hat playthrough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-23 01:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17674142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rydaer/pseuds/Rydaer
Summary: John is not ready to let Arthur go – if he ever was. God knows John would have jumped in front of a train if it meant he could save Arthur. He would do pretty much anything, if it would just buy them more time.Because wherever Arthur goes, John follows.(A somewhat angsty Marston/Morgan Tragedy that roughly follows the events of RDR 2 with a few twists here and there.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, partner! after roaming around the RDR2 section and getting inspired heavily by so many great stories and authors I've read over time, I decided to try it myself. If I ever left a comment or kudos on your story: you probably helped to inspire this and I'm raising my hat to your greatness, as I'am not even remotely as talented as many others on here. Thank you!
> 
> I'm by no means a native speaker. I double checked the fic many times but if there are still a few mistakes (grammar, spelling etc) you may point them out - just keep that in mind :)
> 
> Hopefully I kept both of our cowboys in character and generally didn't mess this one up *fingers crossed* I have some faith left this is not a complete letdown...I tried really hard, I promise! I also tried to get everything as close to the original story as possible, it's been a while since I played through the story and some things are not clear depending the exact times and ages and whatnot. It's written in John's and Arthur's POV mostly. Oh and if that wasn't clear: this story contains SPOILERS. If you don't wanna be spoilered, don't go any further. Be a good boah/girl.
> 
> Title belongs to the infamous Johnny Cash Song. It's been on repeat while writing, along with others.
> 
> This is set somewhere before the last missions in the last Chapter and before the Epilogue. I think that's about it, I shut up now.

_Beavers Hollow_

_\- 1899 -_

(John’s POV)

A shadow had casted over camp.

The people that once made it a home are now bitter, afraid – scattered tents, some abandoned, some still in use. The whole situation had divided the family that once stuck together into two sides: those, who still believe in every damn word Dutch says, clinging to every promise he has made over a better future, a future without fear and getting tailed down. And those who have lost their faith in him a long time ago. John counts himself to the latter. He has no Idea when he had openly started to question Dutch’s behavior and the decisions made by him that lead to this damn chaos they were now in. It must’ve started long ago, right after the Blackwater heist. That had gone completely wrong. They had not earned a single dollar on that day and all of their catch, the only reason they had done the whole thing in the beginning, is still somewhere in that town. Impossible to reach, at least if you don’t want to get shot the minute you set a foot into town.

And the list of towns they couldn’t set a foot in anymore goes on. Since then, they had moved several times. Each new place becoming their new home only for a certain amount of time – until something happened and they had to move again. John feels like it’s a situation that repeats itself over and over until there’s not a single spot in the west left they can run to. There had been a few good jobs, not nearly enough though, to provide for 20 people. It had been a few weeks after their last heist. Hosea had pretty much planned the whole thing, but for some reason no one really had a good feeling about it, especially John. It should be Hosea's last time, the last time he had shared his wisdom and experience with them. On this day, they had lost both Hosea and Lenny. It was a mess - there hadn’t been a single second left for griefing. It all happened way too fast.

John got caught and sent straight to Sisika Prison. And if it wouldn’t be for the sake of Sadie and Arthur, who had once so selflessly risk their life’s to save his, he would still be there - or theoretically dead already.

Dutch had not moved a single finger when John got caught and imprisoned, he partly believed, he had not even tried to put a hold on it. It all happened too fast for John to be completely sure about it, but he vaguely remembers Dutch being not far away, as he had been pushed down on the floor and handcuffed. He’d called his name, but Dutch had long disappeared. John’s vision had turned blurry as he was kicked and beaten, until he passed out in the dust.

The next time he woke up, he wasn’t home. It wasn’t his tent. The bars over windows let him quickly realize that it wasn’t just a bad dream, he had indeed been caught. He had been imprisoned. And he was far away from home, his family. He was handcuffed to a cold brick wall, left in his own stench and blood as he furiously started to kick and scream around in desperation. John always had been a fighter and as loyal as a wolf to his pack. And from day one, he wasn’t going to tell them, whatever it may be that they were trying to get out of him.

The first time he had an interrogation; he’d laughed and spit in the man’s face. It earns him another beating, a broken wrist and a week without food. The guards in Sisika Prison are especially brutal, as he had to find out several times in a row. He needs to talk and they will make him, they promise. John’s loyalty sticks with him like a coat wrapped around him. He carries it proudly like a precious pelt, even if he’s so close to starving, he’s completely beside himself.

By the third week, they had offered him a deal. He’s not going to swing when he tells them all about Dutch and his latest hide out. It’s Dutch they want, not him. It’s _always_ Dutch. If he cooperates, he’s a free man. His body is weak, bruises he had given up on counting and his wrist feels funny. It cracks when he moves it and it’s bitter because it’s his shooting hand. Beside everything, John keeps his mouth shut as if it’s been stitched up. And he gets beaten up again and again, is sent out to work on the fields outside so long, he almost passes out plenty of times, as they try eagerly to break his spirits. John Marston is no man to be torn apart by a couple of pitiful law men. He is gonna fight, even if it’s the last damn thing on this earth he’s doing. His resistance is both mesmerizing and stupid, a fellow imprisoner admits - they all envy his courage.

Another week passes. To this point, John’s hope is non-existent that someone is going to come and rescue him. His disappointment grows, spreads so wide it replaces his hope one by one with sober bitterness. When it rains, he drinks from the puddles forming on the floor of his prison cell to keep himself from dehydrating, that’s what he’s been reduced to. He is officially at his lowest point in life, but no one is going to break him. Not even Dutch. It’s been too long already and it hurts more like the countless wounds on his body, once it sinks in. The physical wounds may heal with time but what about the ones invisible to the eye? Will they heal just as fine?

John’s doubts are with him the entire time.

You would never leave those out in the cold; you claim to love as if you share the same bloodline. It showed Dutch doesn’t follow that vow anymore. His principles seem to have changed drastically. It isn’t fair that John not only loses Hosea, one of his father figures, he gets abandoned by the second one too. There’s a thing about disappointment: once it’s there, it just spreads like a disease and it never really leaves you. Once the doubting starts, you can never stop. And doubting always leads to questioning all of your decisions made in the present, past and future. John has now as well become someone, who worries and doubts a lot. His mind is in a knot, tied between being loyal and turning into a deserter. He’s not so willingly following Dutch’s ideals anymore, often rather wonders what’s left of them anyway. Dutch willingly accepts that John is going to swing for his crimes and it set a due date to their companionship. He’s going to swing for protecting him. He wouldn’t risk his own skin like John would have done for him. The only people who did risk their life, where the ones that had already risk their life plenty of times for him. He’d been just too damn blind to see. And it shames John, that he had not so much done the same in the past. He had been way too caught up with himself, to notice if someone needed help. And still it gets so aggressively offered to him. He’s not sure if he even deserves a single person helping him and sticking to his side through it all. He may not even deserve Arthur and Sadie caring enough about his poor, pathetic self to rescue him, once again.

Was that Dutch’s way of punishing him, for leaving the gang behind for a whole year? Did he lose his trust in John a long time ago, like John lost his? Trust can be as strong weapon, just as much as it can be a fragile thing to be easily destroyed. John is asking a lot of questions these days and he doesn’t get an answer for any of them. Not while he tossed and turned at night, gritting his teeth to the wounds and bruises all over his body. Not while he nearly passed out on the fields outside for working in the unforgiving sun for too long, not when they forced him to go on, although his hands were covered in open blisters that burn like fire with every movement.

He’s going to survive, because fate has its ways with John for quite some time now. It’s either that or bad luck. He figures the devil himself doesn’t want him badly enough - he assumes to have a wicked sense of humor. That’s why he sends Dutch and Hosea in the right moment, when he’s about to get killed. That’s why he lets him get away with nothing more but a horrible scratch across his face, when he gets attacked by a wolf. And just as he is about to freeze on a mountain, the devil sends the other sinner’s named Arthur Morgan and Javier Escualla to rescue him just in time. And ironically, it’s always Arthur who plays a big part in rescuing John over and over again, beside all the insults he throws at him and how many times he claims that he _shoulda left you out there to die, fool_. The devil seems to like sarcasm.

If there’s a holy force above them, it knows all about him and Arthur. And the long story they share. His scratch and broken wrist heal, as well as his lost pride. All of his bruises fade over time – not sure about the one’s imprinted on his soul though. Some things he came to realize in prison stick with him. John Marston is wonder of nature itself. If he’s at his lowest, he stands back up again and no one fully understands why.

It is John’s first night back in freedom and everything has changed. He didn’t expect a huge party thrown due to his returning but the overall ignorance in camp kills every good will left in him. Dutch’s relief about his return are close to zero. And because John is frustrated and hurt, he confronts Dutch, as if he’d half expected him to put his doubts to rest, give him some damn reason to go on. Dutch claims – countless times - he wanted to save him, really wanted to. _“Time wasn’t right, son. You know how dear you are to me.”_ John doesn’t believe a single word. He wants an apology but he never gets one.

Dutch spends way too much time with Micah and not enough time with him and Arthur, for John’s taste. John knows what kind of person Micah Bell is, and he knows that makes him dangerous, too dangerous to trust him as blindly as Dutch seems to do. He tries to mess with Dutch’s mind, with all of their minds. If Micah would have it his way, all of the others would long be abandoned and left to die, because especially women and children are baggage that needs to be cut off. _“If they don’t provide jobs or money for the camp, I say, there’s no need to keep em’ around, Dutch. They’re holding us back and y’know that.”_

Micah Bell is a heartless, spineless snake who prefers his own company and saving his own skin over anyone else. And he doesn’t even have to be discreetly manipulative to get his way. Micah tells and Dutch listens, with a mad gleam in his eye that means no good. He’s probably the only one. Not even Hosea could stand the man and he was defensively protesting, when the decision was made, that Micah would continue to ride with them, not just for some selected jobs. If there was one person in camp, that hated Micah more than John, it was probably Arthur. And he could see why. _“Don’t you two give me a lesson about trust, my dear boys. Whoever needs help, whoever crosses our path and wants to help, they get a fair chance to proof their selves. Micah is a man to be trusted, he’s with us, I can see it in his eyes. I’m not going to discuss this any further, neither explain my decision.”_

God knows, what exactly Dutch had seen in Micah. He should have rather gotten his eyesight checked, John thinks bitterly. If John looks at Micah, all he sees is a snake, rather than a man. And it’s too obvious to ignore it but maybe, age is getting to Dutch finally. Maybe he’s gone senile. So far, there is nothing left of the old Dutch, the man who had taught him to read and shoot and survive and never ever failed to fascinate him, with his generous nature and his clever way with words that are so unlike John, who’s barely able to read a book that is beyond his personal horizon. He is _gone_. John is pretty sure that only a hand full of people still believe the ever repeating stories of a paradise far away from the civilized world, a world full of mango tree’s, sunshine, peace and acceptance for people of their kind. Dutch Van Der Linde, disillusioned dreamer, an optimistic self-claimed messiah for the outlaws – who has a pretty sad record of people surrounding him getting their heads chopped off, shot or imprisoned. John has been one of the many people that had believed this bullshit for far too long. With Hosea’s death, John has buried his faith in Dutch as well. Hosea was the anchor on their ship, without him, the whole ship can’t properly set sails and move. John doesn’t even know what a Mango looks like. He’s not built for the weather overseas. He is a wild soul and he belongs right here – in the untamed parts of the west.

No songs are sung, no whiskey gets killed, no bad tasting stew is cooked. No one laughs and everyone tries to avoid each other. Arguments and fights are a pretty common thing now as the pressure inside the camp seems to destroy the bounds created over years. John sees the women, sees Karen, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Abigail and Sadie, sees the shadows sitting on their faces as they resume to cease speech, and he understands, what Arthur means when he shakes his head and growls that it breaks his heart to see them like that and that they are too precious, too good to go through all of this. They’re tough and strong, but not strong enough John fears. Miss Grimshaw is just a mere shadow of herself. They want out, but there seems to be no way out. Not as long as Dutch is there. He’s pulling them all downward, into the same hole he probably fell in ages ago. Dutch possesses that kind of power over people, to make them not leave his side. He reminds them about promises made, reminds them about loyalty and freedom. And it always comes with a higher price each time. Molly is dead, shot in an argument he somehow helped to fuel. And it’s not sure who’s going to be next, but someone is going to be next in this never ending wheel of chaos, as it spins on and on.

Some are wise enough to leave before that to happen. Pearson and The Reverend have left weeks ago, secretly, during the night, without anyone noticing just as they were gone. The days seem a lot colder now, not just from the absence of hot coffee or stew brewed, they are deeply missed as the family is falling apart. Arthur later reveals, he has met The Reverend at the train station, but was not making any move to prevent him from leaving. He had offered to help with his bags and said his honest goodbyes, _“You take care of yourself too, Mr. Morgan._ ” - He had replied. No one has heard anything from Pearson – probably for the best to ensure his well-being.

Strauss was thrown out. It had been Arthur himself who had done it. There had been an argument about his jobs going on, the ones Arthur had done for him. John remembers it quite well. Living and riding together for 15 years, had taught John the one or other lesson about Arthur. First: he never dispatches anyone from the safety of camp without a reason. Second: while he isn’t actually well tempered and known for being hot headed from time to time, Arthur never really lets himself get carried away by his anger and tries to keep his cool, even when he gets so furious, one might think he’s not going to stay reasonable. Arthur is one of the few people that just make no dumb decisions based on some form of hurt or wrath. Something John has never been capable of and therefore envied him for.

Truth to be told Strauss’s ways of earning money had always been questionable and could be discussed, but he wasn’t dangerous and his actions didn’t necessarily make him a worse person than anyone else in the gang. They all had their sins to confess. He had never killed anyone. He did have some morals, John guessed as much. Arthur’s point was that he made him do things, he should have done himself, bad things that made Arthur hate himself even more, things he would probably never forget for the rest of his life and couldn’t undo.

_“These people? They were decent folks. Good people!”_ He had hollered, with John not being eternally sure what he had meant. He never let any details slip about what exactly he meant. John heard things from the girls mostly, but it could all be smoke and mirrors.

John almost felt sorry for the way Arthur had thrown Leopold Strauss’s belongings after him, while screaming that he wanted him to go and leave and get a real job, do some honest work for a change. One that doesn’t include taking property from poor folks, who don’t deserve it. John isn’t sure if any form of judgement should be made, but he doesn’t interfere. He lets it happen.

_“I did bad things to innocent folks, Marston.”_

_“Didn’t we all, Morgan?”_

There are ideas hatching in John’s mind. He keeps them to himself mostly but he knows at some point, Abigail must’ve gotten through to him with her endless pleading. She wants to leave. She had always wanted that, actually just right after Jack was born. _“This gang is not for a little boy, John. Please.”_ Abigail is suddenly all taken with the idea of having a different life, so much, she constantly reminds him about it and they fight a lot over it. Mostly she wants a different life for their offspring and John can’t blame her, even if he’d claimed long enough, that Jack wasn’t his. John is tied to this gang, to this life as much as she is tied to their son’s well-being. He can’t just pack up his bags and leave.

One day, as Dutch has a dubious conversation with Jack about his lost dog and Micah eyes him in a way that makes John’s skin crawl and for the very first time produces a sense of protection. It’s that he suddenly realizes what Abigail means. This is indeed no place for a child to grow up, not anymore. Half of them have turned into ruthless killers, some of them even harmed children and women, although it’s been a number one priority, an unbroken rule for them to never go that far. 

_"We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed 'em as need feeding_."

They want to steal, gather money and property, not murder everything moving. That’s how John learned it, that’s what they all taught him - but as the family extended over time, so did the rules made in the past. There were a lot of men now, that weren’t as strict with the rules, especially the killing part. Fewer exceptions were made; it was now either them or they. Dutch had done it himself, on the ship in Blackwater. Excused himself by telling them she had it coming, he had to shoot the poor girl. _“What for, Dutch?”_ John wonders if there’s ever been a good reason to kill a helpless woman and there probably is none. He had spoken several threats towards Abigail to put a bullet to her head or drown her in the nearest river if she didn’t shut up – not always meant it though. Abigail hadn’t been exactly shy about responding with the same harshness. So they might as well be even on that matter.

And that girl Dutch killed shouldn’t be the only one. Many more followed. There is a sense of moral in John now and it once was just nothing more than a flicker of a candle, now it has grown into a wild fire.

John doesn’t want this for Jack if he does have a choice, unlike he had when he was younger. He had no choice, the choice was made for him. Jack is a child, he’s naïve and pure. If you would ask him, he would probably answer he wants to stay with Uncle Dutch and Uncle Arthur, cause he loves them so, they’ part of his family. Jack’s sense for family is not fairly traditional – to him, there’s not just his mum and his dad, there’s all his countless Uncles and Aunts that had gotten introduced to him over the years. He’s not able to make this kind of decision; he’s depending on his mother and father to make the right decisions for him.Through time, John learns that parenthood means to take responsibility. John doesn’t know if it’s a biological thing, but parents always want their children to have it better. And he knows what Dutch thinks about that, so they keep it a secret. None of them are sure if Dutch smells betrayal when it’s right under his nose. To Dutch, secrets kept about their true thoughts count as betrayal. He gives them strange looks when he catches them talking, he sends Micah to ask them if everything’s alright or he asks himself. As if he’s trying to test them. Abigail lies straight to his face, reassures him everything’s fine. And John is deeply impressed with her bravery, to which account she protects her family.

John reconciled the idea of just leaving, many times already, in his head at least. Not looking back, lay low for a while until Dutch’s wrath subsides and they are free to start over. Abigail and Jack don’t deserve to suffer the same fate as the countless over ones they had lost along the way. They have seen Kieran getting butchered and beheaded. And he never actually liked the guy, something he felt sorry for now.

He spends a lot of time thinking about many things these days. And he prefers to be alone with his thoughts while he pretends to do useful things alongside. Actually he’s thankful for every distraction he gets to avoid people, especially Abigail with her constant worrying and asking if he’s alright. His well-being assumes to be of many people’s interest all of the sudden and it bothers him greatly, even if he knows they’re just trying to be nice. John tells everyone he is fine and it’s a straight up lie. There is darkness to his tone he can’t deny and somehow, they know if they see the look on his face. Instead, the young man eagerly volunteers nowadays, if there is work to be done. When Miss Grimshaw asks him to check the rifles, announcing that they might need a good cleaning to guarantee full functionality, maybe he had agreed a little to eagerly for her taste.

She’d given him a weird look and asked if he had got bitten by a snake or eaten some bad herbs. Over all these years, Susan Grimshaw had her encounters and struggles with the younger man and to be fair: they didn’t necessarily come out of nowhere. She had caught him red handed doing absolutely nothing more times, than he can remember. And the boy had always been too dirty, too greasy, too ungentlemanly and too full of himself for her taste; the way he so disrespectfully talked to poor Abigail for example, was enough to drive her furious. When John badmouthed her around campfire, telling the other men to never ever get themselves a woman, it usually earned him a good hearted slap on the backside of his head. For decades, John talks when he shouldn’t talk, drinks when he shouldn’t drink and Miss Grimshaw thinks, he should get a good beating every once in a while to teach him some goddamn manners. _“You be a goddamn man, Mr.Marston and stop with the childish nonsense!”_

Susan Grimshaw has a thick shell and it’s impossible to break. She rather breaks yours. And probably a few bones in your body as well. She’s a lioness.

John is not in the mood to discuss his new found engagement with her and quickly interrupts, before she could start to investigate even further: “So you want this rifles clean or not?” he cuts her off, demanding, but not rude. He’s not in for a fight, he just wants distraction. John is well aware of the fact you’d be suicidal to ever get onto Susan Grimshaws bad side.

“Well alright Mr.Marston, you go and be of some use for a change.” she then just puts the cloth and the gun oil in his hands and leaves without further commentary. She had even given him something close to a smile, weird as it is. John adamantly begins his duty in silence. He doesn’t need to tell everyone that he hates the world right now. And Dutch, and Micah, and Javier and Bill. John ponders, if there are moments in life in which death truly means salvation. And if those they had lost along the way might have been lucky to die at the right time. John wouldn’t wish the things he has seen upon anybody, although he is sure they will all go to hell anyway at some point, it’s just a matter of time. Some days, he feels like he’s already there. And if all of this happening is hell already, he definitely doesn’t fear death itself anymore. At this current point, it could probably be a blessing.

He puts some gun oil the cloth and starts cleaning the first rifle. They are indeed pretty dirty, probably haven’t been cleaned in ages. There are stains John can’t guess what their origin might be, stains he just gets off by rubbing over a second and a third time. He groans deeply but is grateful for the distraction this simple task provides.

In the distance John can hear Dutch’s heavy steps walking towards him. He lifts his head, observes the older man for a while but he just quickly disappears in his tent without giving him a single look. It’s not unusual. It has in fact become an awfully familiar scenario these days. It’s Dutch’s way of being butt hurt apparently. When Dutch isn’t busy brooding away in his tent making plans, he acts like John isn’t there. John doesn’t care - he’s fine with the ignorance he gets from Dutch. There’s nothing he wants to discuss with him, nothing he wants to hear, it’s all been said.

Most of the men in camp avoid his presence at any cost, that’s no secret. It’s either that or they are all over his ass and being even nastier towards him than they have been in the past. Since Arthur is not always there to take his side, the fair share of bullshit thrown his way John has to deal with has increased indefinitely. Bill has never really liked John, probably because he had always been Dutch’s favorite, except Arthur of course which Bill had been jealous of as well. He’d accepted his presence, which was about as much as he could expect from him. His mocking however had a sharper tone and John could swear he absolutely despised his guts now. He had overheard a conversation between him and Javier last week and the Mexican had openly called him a Traitor, a backstabbing rat. He is not sure if he prefers that over being called a coward.

It would be nice to have Arthur here more often, not for any form of protection he could offer - John is old enough to stand up for himself - but just for the sake of not being all on his own with these bastards. It’s hard on some days, to not strangle Micah, to not shoot Bill right in the head, to not bend Javier over the washing basin and drown him. Against it all, John withstands the insults thrown his way and he’s proud of himself for not losing his temper as quickly anymore. A wolf doesn’t care about the opinion of sheep and to him they’re nothing more than sheep. They follow Dutch without doubt, all while he herds them down a Cliffside. And he certainly has no reason to be ashamed with himself for having voiced his opinion when no one else did, he doesn’t want to take anything back he has said.

John has a proud and stubborn heart. He would rather die as to crawl back to Dutch and apologize. Loyalty however still matters to John Marston, but his loyalty now leans towards Arthur Morgan, rather than Dutch Van Der Linde. And that had struck a nerve to those, who thought otherwise.

_“Seems like that time away from the gang made you switch sides, Marston. Don’t know who you are and who you’re talkin’ with, ain’t that right?”_

It was all lies. The more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes to him. John might be a pessimist for even thinking about it, but he does anyway. How stupid is it, you can’t just put together 20 people and expect them to get along forever, not knowing that things are going to get ugly after a while and break apart if not careful enough. You can’t expect people to follow you, if you keep on bending their patience and squander the trust they put in you, they will leave one day and never look back. Human beings are complicated. For that they always fight and hurt one another and never care much about consequences and John had always thought so highly about Dutch about having that bit figured, about having truly figured out how people work, that his disappointment knows no boundaries now that it’s all coming to surface, that Dutch Van Der Linde might just not be what he thought he could be. His all mighty seeming presence and it’s never ending knowledge has lost its meaning to John altogether. Dutch knows shit nowadays. He’s just out of control, plain and simple.

Every put together family needs a leader, someone who was above all things, someone who carries your dreams and hopes of a better tomorrow and swears, promises countless times, to let them become reality. Someday, somewhere. After another job, another robbery, another decent take, another path planted with corpses and guilt and more and more pain.

Someone like Dutch.

_“Freedom comes with a price, John.”_ How has he grown so tired of hearing that?

His heart wanted to leave many times before, but his feet wouldn’t move whenever he tried. Dutch might have gone mad, but he was family after all. If it wasn’t for him, John would have had a different life – God knows, he would probably not be among the living anymore. He owes Dutch big time – or at least to spend the rest of his miserable life riding with the gang. Until he was either shot dead or hung. Maybe that’s what Dutch expects in general. He wants nothing more but your entire life dedicated to his leadership. Because he picked you up when you had no one and nowhere to go to and how dare you to leave him at his lowest point. _Be a goddamn man, Marston._

He’d done it already – just left without explanation, only to return a year later, full of guilt and regret and certainly no wisdom gained. The only wisdom gained was the sad inevitability that he was none the wiser than before and whatever had been done couldn’t be undone. He’d hoped for forgiveness, only to realize nothing ever gets forgiven. He was now the coward who left, the disloyal snake that couldn‘t even provide for his own child. His family was dear to him, each and every one of them, same blood or not. He didn’t want to be called a coward anymore, disappoint the few people he still honestly cared about – even if that group had dramatically subtracted over time. Actually it was just him, Sadie, Uncle, Charles and a few others he still trusted. Well and Arthur…

_Arthur…_

John takes his attention away from the rifle he is currently cleaning and lets his eyes wander around camp, searching for someone particular in the fade of daylight. Arthur is nowhere to be found. It’s not surprising at all. Whenever John can’t talk or doesn’t know what to say, he keeps on observing people instead, trying to get an idea of what they might be up to. With Arthur he doesn’t know anymore.

The man seems to avoid this place lately, makes sure to stay away as much as possible, as if this isn’t what he believes in anymore, as if his home is elsewhere now. And that’s pretty rich coming from a man, who would have offered his life for this gang, who had always been there when there was work to be done. The first one to rise in the morning and the last one to lay down in the evening. Arthur helps and provides and protects and his presence is always welcome and warm. He’s loved by many and hated by others. And it shows through all of his actions, through all of the words exchanged - and most of all, Arthur has always been there. He’s not anymore. When Arthur isn’t there, the camp definitely lacks warmth, lacks familiarity. He’s their rock and the soul of this camp. Steady and dependable like clockwork.

Sometimes he just stays for a few hours, only to leave again, never explaining the whereabouts of his disappearance. John is not fast enough to catch the man these days. He’s like a slippery fish, getting away as soon as John gets him hooked and ready to reel in.

On some rare occasion, you can spot him sitting around in a far corner of the camp, propped up against his wagon and scribble away in his Journal, perfectly comfortable with his lonesome. John knows Arthur is a thinker, he writes all of his thoughts down before they get too crowded in his mind. He’s way better at this than John ever was. John is more the type of shoving his thoughts straight into people’s faces – with a wooden plank or a gun if needed. And often he doesn’t think what comes out of his mouth. Arthur on the other hand, chooses his words rather wisely.

Other times, he would catch him talking eagerly to Mary Beth or Sadie but as soon as John approaches him, he would already saddle his horse and ride off to god knows where, sparing him a satisfying answer. He has certainly no idea what the man has been up to recently, what he does when he is gone for days. He seems to keep it a secret on purpose and John assumes, that Arthur tries – just as much as he does – to avoid any kind of confrontation with his old protégé and those who swarm around him like a bunch of degenerated flies. John believes it might just be a matter of time until things escalate and get ugly real quick. Everything they’d build over the years is broken and messed up – with the camp being divided into two sides. A sad progression, if you remember how good it had been.

But that seems long gone now; it’s just a foggy memory in John’s afterthought. Things would never get back to normal, too much shit had happened. Tahiti had been a great dream to cling onto, but it isn’t going to happen anytime soon and probably also not in the farer future. He was born here and he would probably die here too. The only question is when that would be.

John puts the now clean rifle back into the wagon they are stored in, lets his eyes rest on it for a moment as he’s deep into thought. Good old times. He misses them dearly. And most of all he misses spending time with Arthur, just the two of them. Imagining, how close they once were makes him realize every now and then, how far they had drifted apart.

Arthur has always been his rock, the one who keeps everything together. The safety he provides motivated ambitious, awfully young John to be the very best he could be, even if that had not always worked out too well.

Oh, he’d been such a disgrace sometimes, so wild and openly unteachable, like a horse that couldn’t be tamed for decades. Arthur’s patience had run out several times and there were probably more insults directed at him than praise. He’d been such an outrageous brat, with his nose far too high up. Several threats were made towards his person to either strangle or drown him. Thankfully for the both of them, John had slowed down his breakneck pace over the years and Arthur had gotten through to him, hammered some sense into that thick skull of his - with a lot of gentle patience and love. If only just a little.

Arthur had accepted him, then guided him and rejected him at one point. It’s an untold truth John was not able to grasp the full meaning of yet. Arthur’s mind is a complex thing. And he doesn’t let anyone in.

Rejection can be hurtful and it’s something, John never learned to cope with. For some reason he should have gotten used to it by now - his life had even started with getting rejected by his own parents - but he never really did. He’s not that kind of person who likes to be ignored or to be put in his place. John is eager, attention seeking and loud and always gets what he wants in the end. It’s completely unnatural to him, if things don’t go his way. It gives a sting to his heart, that Arthur keeps his distance from him, although it’s not been the first time he rejected him. He believes that ever since he returned, they had gotten all of their past misunderstandings out of the way and started fresh. The relationship with Arthur had actually been really good for weeks, especially when they did jobs together.

Until Arthur came back from Saint Denis shortly after they’ve returned from Guarma. John had noticed the change in their relationship and often wondered if Arthur had too.

It had been only a few days after him and Sadie rescued John from prison. Arthur never openly talks to John about his sickness or how it affects him. They are both stubborn. Emotional outbursts were kept to themselves mostly; it never had been any different since he could remember. There had been a moment, when John was lucky enough to overhear a conversation he’d lead with Mary Beth. That was when he knew it was bad news, not that he kind of sensed that already, that something was horrendously wrong with the older man. He would hear him coughing his lungs out at night many sleepless times before; saw the blood he spat out occasionally, and later, almost daily.

Under his hard shell, Arthur is weakening unabashedly and it’s dawning on John that all of them are indeed invincible, even Arthur, a man as strong as a bear and with an equally sharp mind to match.

Arthur would never accept any help, especially not when it is offered to him. Despite his sickness, he is too proud to do so. Maybe that’s the only reason, the only argument to stay away from camp - and from John. Because one thing John is really good at, is worrying. He nowadays worries too much about the older man and he doesn’t hide it well enough. He’s too uncouth about it and Arthur can’t stand it, John’s constant worrying drives him nuts. _“I ain’t ya damn housewife, Marston. Just lemme be.”_

He remembers the tone of Arthur’s voice, how broken and tired he had sounded. And there is a whole lot more that made John realize progressively that he wasn’t going to get better. In childish naivety, you catch yourself clinging to the small amount of hope. That everything isn’t as bad as it may seem, that everything turns out good in the end, but John was no fool, even he had not so much optimism left to believe it. This wasn’t like the fairy tales Jack was so obsessed with. It weighs down heavily on John, so heavily he starts to shut himself tight about his feelings just like Arthur does.

And that’s where they stand right now.

Arthur had become a different man. His perspectives, thoughts and general behavior have changed drastically – right after he had been diagnosed it seems. Maybe he is an even better man now than John, who knows. Some might even say, he’d gone too soft for this kind of life they lead. It’s what you see right in front of you in which lays the most truth sometimes.

John is about to grab the next rifle and clean it, as he hears the faint sound of hooves coming closer. He doesn’t need to look twice to spot the familiar figure in the distance, approaching campsite. Arthur is back, alive at least. And when he finally dismounts his loyal, pitch black American Standardbred named Lady, John isn’t sure if he looks worse every time he returns. In fact he looks absolutely miserable. His clothes are wet; he’d also lost a good amount of weight while he was gone, his usually broad frame showing off frail and beaten, drawing his harsh facial contours even harder. Even his three day stubble can’t hide the fact that he’s pale as whitewash, his eyes dull and lifeless. He looks like a ghost returning to haunt the place he once lived in.

John mindlessly sets the rifle down when he sees Arthur approaching him with big steps. He can feel his heart beating madly against his ribcage, as if he’d just run for his life, and he can’t process why. He decides to ignore the feeling, for now at least as it’s just taking away room to focus properly.

“Marston.” Arthur’s voice is low and unrestingly, it makes the tiny hair on his body stand up. “You busy? Care to join me huntin’?” as always, there is no explanation, no greeting, nothing; just this blunt question, coming out of nowhere. Granting the end of his sentence is cut off by heavy coughing, Arthur speaks purposefully louder than usual, stirring attention from the others around them. John could swear he saw Micah turning his ugly mug towards them, as soon as Arthur stands next to him.

“Huntin’? Now?” he asks sheepishly, feeling all lightheaded and caught by surprise. John has a pretty obvious inability to read between the lines – he is not good with human interactions and emotions at all, he prefers animals, as they are much easier to understand. Arthur awaits an answer and tilts his hat. That damn hat he’d never gone a day without wearing and was paranoid about losing.

“Well…if you insist. I think I could come along.” He tries carefully, testing the waters. Arthur definitely insists, the look on his face gives that much away. Figuring it might be the dumbest idea, he had in days. The man before him is – in fact – in no condition to hunt and it’s obvious to everyone that he’d probably not even be able to shoot a skunk without falling over. And while he still ponders if the older man has lost his mind along with Dutch or was just too stubborn to accept that he needed to take things easy like John told him countless times already, he senses like he should, once and for all, quit talking, stop with the unnecessary questions and just play along for the sake of it. With Arthur, things usually make sense later. And it might also be the best and only opportunity he would get, to talk with him alone.

“Wouldn’t be askin’ otherwise, wouldn’t I?” Arthur retorts with his usual wit, but it lost some of its usual strong charm.

“Alrigh, Alright. I’m comin’. Gonna get my stuff and let Abigail know.” John and Arthur had always been the complete opposite of one another – but one thing they were really good at, was to work with each other. John usually just follows Arthur’s pace and the rest usually turns out well enough, to not get both of them killed or caught.

“Good. Don’t pack too much, Marston. We’re not goin’ on damn honeymoon.” Arthur is never going to grow tired of teasing him and it’s rare to happen, that John doesn’t really come up with an equally cocky response. But this time he’s just completely blank of any snarky remark.

“Shut up, Morgan.” He mumbles under his breath. They give each other a silent nod and both turn around to part ways in the center of campsite.

It’s too silent for John’s taste. All eyes in the camp are on them, but no one says anything, the silence is almost deafening. They just observe and wait, ponder if the scene has gotten a strange undertone to it. John thinks they should all keep their mouth shut and not be so damn curious. It’s not the first time he’s riding out with Arthur. And it’s one of this times, he can’t just wait to get away.

John can also feel Dutch’s presence, his angry glaring and disagreement burning a hole into the backside of his head, as he passes him. He eyes him carefully. The look he gives John speaks volumes, like a cockroach he’s trying to stomp with his boot but can’t. For a split second, the step he’s taking out of his tent indicates that he is carefully overthinking his options, if he should interfere or not.

Micah on the other hand, has no such trouble. He’s taking the decision away from Dutch as he plants his body right in front of John’s, making it impossible for him to leave without shoving him out of the way. There’s a stupid grin around his features and shimmer in his eye as he sneers at John.

He’s out for trouble.

“Woah, slow down wolf boy. Where exactly you think you’re going, _brother_?” he snarls with his usual attitude, giving a shove to his shoulder as if he owns this gang, all of them, clearly wanting to intimidate him. The empathizing on brother makes John’s blood run cold and he immediately balls his fists as reaction. He knows Micah wants to strangle him just as much as he does. It’s plastered all over his face.

“None of your damn business you bastard. Get outta the way or I’ll make you.” he spits back through gritted teeth. Micah touches his dirty, blonde mustache, aggressively circles him like the goddamn animal he is, watches him dangerously under the proofing gaze of Dutch in the background.

“What’s the matter, Johnny Boy? Finally runnin’ off with black lung? To live happily ever after? You know, I never understood the deal between you two. You’re all mysterious and chatty with each other these days. Makes me think, you two got somethin’ to hide.” He comes up closer so John gets a full display of his ugly mug, his dirt stained teeth and his breath thick of whiskey as he spits on the floor right next to John to underline his disgust. John can feel his temper rising. He wants to bury his fist in that face, or worse, once and for all.

“You’ve gone deaf or somethin’? lemme repeat it for ya: it’s none of your damn business.”

“Oh if there’s a traitor among us, it very much to my concern, Johnny Boy. There’s been a lot of shit coming from you and cow poke. I think there’s a reason for us –“ he stops and gestures towards Dutch “…for me and Dutch and Bill and Javier, to not trust you anymore. It’s time to cut lose; get it all out in the open. You two been really bad boys. And you know what happens to kids that disobey, right?”

“The Hell you’re talkin’ ‘bout Micah? You're not makin' any sense. You want me to get on my knees and apologize? Cuz that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Oh look, who’s grown a pair and trying to mess with the adults! You think’ you’re tough now that Morgan’s taken your side and made you his all too loyal mutt. Not here to judge a fella, but for you, that must’ve been quite the rise. Funny, how he used to despise you and now he’s head over heels with ya and welcoming you gladly into his bedroll at night.”

“You son of a bitch!” it was enough. John pushes Micah so the other man loses his balance and stumbles backwards. John is fast and deft and above him in no seconds, grabs the collar of his shirt, clenches it tightly as the other man just continues to laugh disrespectfully. John knows it’s a bold provocation; Micah wants him to do something stupid but hell if it isn’t working. He’s so angry, he’s not seeing straight, his body going all into berserk mood.

Under Micah’s mocking chants - “So angry! Come on Marston! Do it! Don’t be a coward! Show us what kind of man you are! “ - his fist collides with Micah’s face. And again and again. Soon, there’s a faint sound of bone breaking and blood spreading everywhere and Micah getting back at him eventually, and one of his hands closing around John’s throat, putting an uncomfortable pressure on it that makes breathing quite an impossible task. He mirrors John’s brutality, punches him as well so his lip splits and he tastes blood.

They are rolling around on the ground like a bunch of abusive children when Dutch has finally seen enough and steps in. He catches John’s arm, pulls him off of Micah and holds it in a tight grip. Behind him, Micah still laughs manically, despite having blood everywhere and his nose looking kind of dislocated. His mustache is covered with red. And it only adds to John’s anger.

“That’s enough! You two stop this.” He commands sternly. John yanks his arm out of Dutch’s grip like the rebellious spirit he is. “Micah!” Dutch commands and Micah immediately shuts up, rubbing the blood away with the sleeve of his shirt. He’s obviously not dumb enough to disobey with Dutch.

Dutch is sending out a message and it’s received, loud and clear. He’s angry, but towards John Dutch never openly shows his anger. He makes sure he lets him feel every last bit of his wrath though. It’s making John slightly uncomfortable as the older man’s gaze bores into his. His voice is unforgiving and the look he gives him shows disgust.

“John was just about to pack his stuff and leave. I guess, the boy has to blow off some steam and It’s a fine day for some hunting indeed.” It’s a trap and John knows that but he couldn’t care less. He’s done with Dutch manipulating him. He’s not a child anymore.

“If you say so, Dutch.” John spits with as much venom in his voice as he can muster. He’s not afraid of him.

“Oh, actually I insist you join Arthur, it would make me quite nervous if you’d go there all on your lonesome. You two sure have a lot to talk about, since Arthur always puts so much thought into your well-being, dear boy. And who am I to defend myself under that much brotherly resistance? Now, aren’t we quite the family!” The sarcasm is thick in Dutch’s voice, an idiot would sense that it was not meant in a good way and that it probably would have consequences.

There’s a lot on John’s mind he would like to tell him for sure but just as he opens his mouth to let out a whole lot of reproaches, Arthur is right behind him, to put an end to it. And the big, familiar hand pulling at his shoulders is draining all his anger. Only Arthur could have that kind of effect on him. Over the years, John’s temper and his big mouth had gotten him in a lot of trouble and Arthur has always been there to prevent the worst. And it was definitely needed now. There was no reason to blow up anymore dust.

“Come on now. Pack up your things.” he growls impatiently. It’s a command and it doesn’t leave much room for John to protest so he just obeys although it still irks him, he couldn’t finish what he’d started, he hated having unfinished business.

Micah let’s out a triumphant laugh and loudly announces “Oh black lung, ‘bout time you came to save lil’ Johnny from getting into trouble. What a lovely pair you two make.” which Arthur doesn’t give much notice to. He tells Micah to fuck off and pulls John along in a rough grip that makes the younger man exclaim a defensive “Hey! Leave it will ya?”

Arthur only releases him in front of his tent.

“You hurry up now or I’m leavin’ without ya.” He means it. Before John turns around to pack, he catches one last quick glimpse of how Arthur’s and Dutch’s gaze lock onto one another. It’s Dutch who breaks the silence and openly addresses Arthur.

“You got anything to say, Arthur?”

“It’s all been said, Dutch. There’s nothin’ I have to share with you right now.”

And it’s left to just that. There’s no further argument following. Arthur is the first one to break eye contact and focus on packing. Without a word, Dutch and Micah as well disappear back to his tent. Dutch is not a clueless fool, he knows, he’s wise enough to accept his defeat. He can’t keep up with the both of them, their resistance is annoying him greatly, that’s obvious. And he’d long grown tired of discussing it with Arthur, who definitely isn’t playing after Dutch’s rules anymore for quite some time. And even if John is a little triumphant about what he had just observed, it kind of hurts him to see Dutch and Arthur fall apart like that.

Arthur had never grown tired of mentioning, how much he adored Dutch, how important he was to him as a friend and as a fearless leader. A role Arthur never claimed for himself and gladly let Dutch have all the control he’d wanted. But things change and Arthur certainly has no control over Dutch anymore. Not like he used to. Hosea had been the voice of reason and wisdom behind Dutch’s leadership and with that lost, there was not much to be saved.

This bashful, two men rebellion had been going on since weeks, after their little disagreement about current circumstances. John knows, Arthur had started to put way too much heart into the whole thing with Rain Falls and his son Eagle Flys – he is fed up with pulling innocent people into their problems, leaving corpses and more guilt along the way. You could tell, they had started to become dear to him. Dutch was not having it. He insisted to pretty much manipulate them so the attention would be directed elsewhere, that’s what it sounded like at least.

Dutch wants to create noise; Arthur would rather keep silent forever, as they have made enough noise to make the whole world chase them down.

Since this argument, Arthur and Dutch have not exchanged a single word, except the absolute minimum. They don’t hate each other, at least not enough to part ways yet, they just have no reason anymore, to be like they used to be. Arthur says, he’s bond to Dutch as long as he lives. That’s how it’s going to end for him. And Dutch knows that as well. He’s still his son after all, his oldest and dearest friend. Their relationship is changing, just like a tree changing his leafy coat during seasons. In spring, a tree could regrow it’s leafs though, a relationship between two men that despise the actions of one another, John wasn’t so sure about if there was anything left to regrow.

A lot of people agree with Arthur’s point of view, some silently, some very loudly. John is – for more than obvious reasons - in no need of much encouragement to follow Arthur’s lead. He’d always taken his side in arguments. Lord knows, he’d follow blindly wherever Arthur may go, even if it is straight to hell. He’s lost his last bit of faith in Dutch when his decision against John ended up with him rotting away in a prison cell.

There were things in life, you couldn’t forget. With trust, there’s a simple mantra John believes in: once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. John is thankful, so very thankful that they are about to leave this godforsaken place soon. John takes Arthur’s command to heart and packs as quickly as possible. He ignores the expression on both Sadie’s and Abigail’s face as he mindlessly throws a few of his belongings into his bag, not saying a word while doing so. His guns, his bedroll, a coat, a few arrows – that should do the trick.

Sadie is sitting around in the corner, silently sipping on her coffee. She watches his antics carefully until it unnerves John way too much and he faces her.

“If you gonna say somethin’ Sadie, do it right away. Ain’t got no time for this.”

“John Marston, I really think you shoulda-“ she gets interrupted by Abigail holding her back, hushing her to be quiet when she opens her mouth for protest. Thankfully, Abigail seems to have taken his side for once. She is not in the mood to fight or discuss his decision; she looks as tired as she probably feels. John knows, the only reason Sadie hasn’t beheaded him already multiple times for his unacceptable, sometimes disrespectful behavior towards her, is because she knows, how dear stupid John Marston is to Abigail Roberts. He annoys her greatly on a daily purpose, she’d thrown so many insults at him, it’s a wonder she didn’t kill him herself yet. But surprisingly, Abigail Robert’s still loves her husband none the less and sticks with him like a good, loyal horse.

It is more of a silent understanding as she strokes his arm while he nervously shuffles around their limited living space. It’s shy and careful, almost not noticeable. She lets him be – in this rare moments John realizes, he certainly hasn’t been the only one who’d changed. Abigail had grown into the brave, fine woman that was standing right next to him as he – for the probably hundredth time – was about to leave her without much more than a weak smile.

John wasn’t completely heartless. Even if his relationship with Abigail had been rocky and would be forever conflicted with the strong feelings he had for someone else, he guessed, he still somehow loved her in a way, he loved no one else. If all, love is not exactly the right word to describe his affections towards her. It’s more like the deep connection to a really dear friend, to a trustworthy companion. He is – by all means – just starting to love her more than he used to hate her. And focused on how complicated it all had been, how young they were when they met and had – accidently – become parents, he thinks that’s quite an improvement.

It’s not that John doesn’t feel guilt whenever his thoughts wander elsewhere when they are supposed to be directed towards her. He never planned on having a family one day or a wife. He feels guilty a lot and he hates his craving and longing for someone else. She doesn’t deserve it, she is a good woman and he’s made a promise to her he was ambitious about on keeping, because promises do matter to John. He just can’t change his ways and his feelings. They run to deep to ignore them.

He returns her soft gesture, mouthes a “Thank you. You look after the boy and tell him I’ll be back soon.” and means it with every fiber in his body, although surely, it might have been more for her than it was to him.

She had to understand: It had been Arthur who had asked. And no one, at least from this small group of people that are dear to them, would have said anything against it. Because it’s been Arthur, and Arthur means so much more to John, than he’s ready to admit to anyone else.

Women are far more sensitive if it comes to noticing things. And sometimes John is sure, she knows. And Sadie knows, and Mary-Beth, and probably many more people expect them. Deep down, they know more than they admit. It doesn’t need much to see what impact Arthur has had on John’s life.

They have much more time left together, hopefully.

Arthur’s time on the other hand, was running short with every minute that passed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and John quickly leave camp and ride out together. Little does John know, what awaits him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright fellas, here's the next one! Prepare: this one includes A LOT of hurt and some good old heartbreak - also some nice little flashbacks of Arthur's and John's past spent together. Thank you so much for the kudos and comments xx they are massively inspiring and really appreciated so keep 'em coming! I don't know how long this gonna be. A few parts need some polishing and well...we'll see? You enjoy the next Chapter <3

_New Hanover/West of Ambarino_

 

_\- 1899 -_

 

(John's POV)

 

John had kept his word and only packed important things as they meet up again and are now ready to ride off to god knows where. He used to be a lousy example with these things, couldn’t pack right, couldn’t properly plan journeys and robberies and always ended up forgetting things that were indeed important for a good outcome of any plan. He has gotten better at a lot of things for quite some time, even if it remains unnoticed.

They mostly cease speech. From mounting their horses, to riding down the small trail that leads them out of their hiding spot in Beaver Hollow, there’s not a single word to be exchanged. Once they fall into a steady gallop on the open fields of the unbound west of New Hanover, or at least the parts of it that aren’t civilized yet, John notes that the constricted feeling in his chest starts to melt away. The fresh morning air carries away his sorrows. It’s good to get out of camp, he thinks if he would have to be stuck there any longer, he surely would have gone crazy. Damn if he wasn’t ready to kill Micah right there if Dutch and Arthur would have let him.

And it’s also good to ride with Arthur. If John would have to paint a picture of the perfect moment, he would pick this any time. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Out here in the open with the older man by his side, he feels that tiny bit of freedom returning. And in a civilized world that was chasing their trails down for a good amount of time now, having some freedom left was a precious gift.

Arthur has gladly changed into dry clothes as he spurs Lady to decent pace, fast enough to put some distance between them and camp, but slow enough that John has a chance to adjust and get a better view of him in the process.

Especially now that the sun is finally coming out and the sky is clearing up above them, it shows how much of his energy the sickness was draining from Arthur. John studies him properly, takes in every detail: his blue eyes – coated with a slight crimson - are underlined with dark shadows, the bright sparkle inside them long gone. He’s pale and looks tired and weak, like he is just pushing and fighting against an invisible enemy that was threatening to kill him in every waking minute of his being. It’s hard for John to bear. It might have been a more childish impulse and not suitable for a grown man and searched criminal, but part of him wants to pull Arthur into a hug and never let go. As if that could magically change their destiny and keep him right here with John.

Arthur had grown so dear and important to him over the years, more important than he could ever explain with words.

It feels like he is more and more slipping away from him. Not just metaphorically.

But they are men, searched men, killers, thefts, you name it. And grown men don’t feel that way about other grown men, at least not openly. That’s what always kind of stood between them and well…the sake of it becoming _more_. The life’s they lead left no room for such delicate intimacy and he had accepted, that his repressed affection wouldn’t heal nor safe Arthur in the end. They had been at this point of their ever changing relationship ages ago and it didn’t turn out well for the both of them. So they tried again and again but it seemed like there was always an invisible border separating them. It was complicated, always had been. To this day, they haven’t talked about many things that happened between them over the years. For John, it was like walking over a pile of hot coals while not allowed to scream in agony. He wants to, so badly, but his mouth remains shut every time he thinks he’s brave enough. It leads to a lot of frustration he daily carries around on his shoulders, it makes him toss and turn at night, not finding any sleep. There had never been the right moment to address said issues. With them, it always seemed to be the wrong damn timing. None of them was mighty enough to know, how much time they had left.

However, Pity is something Arthur highly despises. “ _Pity’s for fools, who mourn and cry all day_ ,” he had said once. Arthur has always taken a certain pride in what he believed in. Even if it wasn’t so clear what that now was. John understands and accepts and therefore keeps his worries mostly to himself, along with other things. Even if that is one of the hardest things to do since John always carries his heart on the tip of his tongue. He is not used to keep himself shut about his concerns and worries.

“So…where we headin’?” John tries, carefully at first, not sure if Arthur wants to continue to ride in silence or not. He has no intention to be pestering about it, but now that there is so much he wants to ask Arthur, it takes all his willpower to contain his big mouth. They have now surpassed a river, John recognized as the Dakota River in the farer West of Ambarino and not talked a single word so far.

“There’s a nice spot I found a few days ago.” Arthur clarifies flatly over the sound of their horses wheeze and the sound of their hooves hitting solid ground. That is as much as John gets from him and it makes him shut up right away, screaming internally. Why in hell was Arthur acting so strange? What does he have in mind when he dragged him out on this ride with him?

“That’s why you come back to camp? take me to a nice spot you found?” John complains, annoyance on the tip of his loosened tongue. He trusts Arthur with his life, damn he loves that man with all of his flaws, he was like a brother to him (and sometimes more) but did he always have to be so mysterious? John’s impatience has always been their greatest concern.

Throughout most of the ride, Arthur continues to ignore him. He just bellows a few instructions to make sure John is still focused on the road before them. Unlike John himself, Arthur is well aware of the fact that John is winded up easily and generally has the attention span of a wooden plank. He would disagree with Arthur a lot on that topic.

John sulks silently, noticing that this had the same intensity and feel to it, like their first ride together.

That was way back, when they were much younger and much dumber. Dutch had sent them out on their first job together cause - “ _Arthur, my dear son, that boy needs some experience_ and _I want you to teach him a thing or two about how it’s done properly. He’s a diamond in the rough, you’ll see. Just give it some time and patience.”_

They were meant to rob a general store in a relatively small town in the middle of nowhere, just a handful of ranchers and inbred hillbillys there, nothing too special. Decent but simple folks, as Hosea would say. Arthur rather chose to call them dumb as rocks, the perfect fit to John who as equally not quite gifted in the intelligence department.

There was just this one store, a small saloon and a train station – practically not armed or protected, wouldn’t raise a stink or cause them much trouble. Investigating the area a few days beforehand had told them, that there had been rumors about the store owner keeping a whole lot of money under his belt. Seemed like a pretty okay catch, easy to rob and not so unforgiving if mistakes were made – it was perfect for John to gain some experience and maybe even _learn_ something If he kept his feet still long enough. John had been beaming with excitement, eager to jump his horse and start right away, Arthur on the other hand, not so much. He had not been able to share John’s enthusiasm. In fact, he had been absolutely against the idea.  “ _I’m no watchdog for that kid, Dutch.”_ He had pleaded, but decisions had already been made and as Arthur had accepted his fate, to teach John all about robbing and well…not shooting a whole town if it wasn’t needed. He settled into his role as John’s patient mentor quite well: he finally got the chance to put the big mouthed Idiot back into his place by being exceptionally strict with him. John was still a kid after all, not older than 17 and he was too ambitious, too arrogant and a real pain in the ass. His arrogance could gladly use to get toned down a notch.

Arthur had done nothing as to constantly correct him and be especially severe whenever he did something wrong. In a thunderous hurricane, he was the last strong tree standing, withstanding the natural power’s to uproot him. _Slow down. Watch it, Marston. Easy there, idiot! You gonna get thrown off that way. Pay some goddamn attention. Have you gone deaf? Behave yourself with those spurs. Nice and slow. Goddamnit, you ride like a butcher. Don’t point that fucking gun at me, hold it upright, don’t flinch. Don’t shoot anyone unless it’s needed, you hear me? Easy there, take your time. You want us to get killed, you fool? Stay down._

They had been riding for about roughly 2 hours (John really has no idea. His sense of time is as horrible as his patience) when Arthur’s voice pulls him out of his daydreaming.

“Careful. Path’s getting pretty steep soon.” The warning had been particularly useful as they enter the described path that leads them through a rural looking Cliffside, up into the Mountains. The sky is now painted a flawless light blue with only a few clouds here and there and the air is noticeably getting thinner and colder – John is glad he had brought his coat along. It is probably about to turn midday, as the position of the sun in the sky tells them. Tree crowns encircle the scenery, some pines, some oaks. John is not comfortable with flora and fauna, to him they are just tree’s, all the same. Still, it’s quite breathtaking and John makes sure that, despite his current mood, to take it all in, preserve it in his memories for darker times. John couldn’t remember the last time they’ve just been on such a peaceful ride, just the two of them and no Pinkertons or O’Driscoll scum chasing after them.

He takes another glimpse at Arthur who is gently and deliberately guiding Lady around the rural path, spurring her on with such thoughtfulness, that it is no wonder that horse is so well behaved and obedient to every command. Arthur had been a stonecold hearted bastard in the past but he had always been protective and sensitive if it came to Horses, never harmed a single one, not even by mistake, though most times, the same couldn’t be said about their owners. They were fragile creatures to him and needed to be handled with care. Lady had been a pain in the ass to tame, she’d thrown Arthur off more times than he could count, but his trust in her never vanished. And it paid off. There was a certain similarity to his relationship with John, that made the younger man wonder if Arthur naturally attracted this kind of roughness.

“Strange Hunting Trip you planned there. Ain’t seeing no animals so far.” John mocks, but it doesn’t earn him much, only a deep sigh from Arthur. Not the answer he was hoping for. He hears him murmur a soft “Come on” under his breath cutting through the strange silence. But that is directed to Lady. John isn’t sure if he ignores him on purpose. He presses his legs together to signalize Old Boy, to catch up. The sun is now right above them, and despite the fact it was hard to tell since all of them above was covered by thick leafs.

Things could never be eternally peaceful with John - Arthur should have known that by now, just as the younger man suddenly underestimated the change in the pace of his horses gait and the new height of their territory, for example.

Old Boy is a trustworthy stallion with wild spark just like it’s owner, never let him down so far. However John’s last attempt to spur him on to go faster while he wasn’t paying close attention on his surroundings, almost ends up with him getting thrown off in the mud and down the mountain. The horse wheezes loudly when it nearly steps over a stone and tries to buck him off, showing him exactly what he thinks about his rough behavior. Unlike John who gets easily distracted, Arthur is always well aware of his surroundings. Lady gently maneuvers herself through the changed circumstances, calm as the damn breeze that was blowing through the trees and bushes around them. Sometimes, John thinks bitterly, even that damn horse was making fun of him. Arthur finally slows her down with ease and turns around to check on him, much to John’s personal discomfort.

“You okay back there? Can’t ride a damn horse all of the sudden?” Arthur throws him a proofing gaze, grinning stupidly.

“It’s nothin’! I’m fine!” John assures briskly, hiding his embarrassment with arrogance, hushing Old Boy to be calm and get him back on track, which he gladly agrees to. He sure as hell didn’t intend on sounding like a wounded child that has just missed his first shot but it is kind of distressing when he is exposed like that. Arthur’s opinion matters a lot to him, always did. Back in the day, it was all about impressing Dutch and Hosea so they would see him as equal to Arthur and offer him better jobs and grant him more responsibility but now? There is a certain pride he takes in his recent actions. He is eager to show Arthur that he’d long outgrown the stupid boy with a big mouth image.

All the things that happened had shaped him; make him think differently about their life together and what kind of person he wants to be in the future, although John is not so sure yet if he has a future. Slowly but steadily, he has gotten rid of his crude, angry nature he’d carried around long enough, through all of his twenties and beyond to be honest. And still he can’t shake the feeling that he hasn’t eternally sure what kind of man he had planned on becoming. Part of him wanted to be like Arthur, honorable, wise, loyal, and honest. Another part of him wanted Arthur to like him. Not in the traditional sense of brotherhood mind you. More like…in a more intimate way.

“If you say so, Marston.”

He was expecting Arthur to bite back with one of his sarcastic responses, mock him for his lack of patience or non-existent talent in – well – virtually anything. But nothing ever came. No mocking, no sarcastic remark. Nothing. He just chuckles and rides along. John comes to the conclusion that he probably had to be patient and wait whatever Arthur had planned on showing him. Suddenly he remembers Hosea reading a book to him, 3 months after he had joined them. He only half listened, it had been way too boring, not as boring as doing camp duties, but it wasn’t his favorite either. But that tiny part of the book Hosea was reading to him, and expected to read it by himself one day, that stuck with him. It probably wasn’t from Hosea, but remembering, that Hosea was a literate man despite his origins that weren’t much different to John’s and Arthurs, he’d adopted it and whenever John was getting impatient and into one of his moods, he repeated it, word after word. His voice clear and careless in his mind.

 

_Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience._

 

 

***

 

It was getting afternoon when they had reached their destination. It had been some time, that John had taken onto such a long ride and he feels a little stiff as he stops his horse right next to Arthur’s. Now that he has time to take in landscape spreading before them, he has to admit, that the older man had not been lying.

It’s stunning. They are quite high up from what he can tell, so high, that John was thankful that he luckily isn’t afraid of heights. When he leans over the edge to catch a glimpse of the world underneath them, he can barely point a finger on which part of the country they are located in right now. John has never been really interested in art, hell he couldn’t even draw a stick figure if he tried, but this all together looked like a painting, like it should belong in a gallery - a bunch of dots in green, brown and blue framed by more rural scenery. In the distance you can see smaller rivers running into bigger one’s until they meet somewhere and morph into a lake. Mountain rising high towards heaven, a crown of white on their tips. And there somewhere in the farer distance is the open land they had long left behind them.

And what he likes most about this place: it is quiet. There is not a single soul around to bother them. For the first time in ages, it’s just him and Arthur and it stirs some kind of excitement in John.

Arthur is standing right next to him, carefully studying him as John is pretty much lost in thought and taken aback.

“You daydreamin’ a lot today, boy.” He states. John feels a little caught but handles his embarrassment quite well.

“Yeah much so. Jesus Arthur…this is…nice.” John is officially shit with words. Beside him, Arthur laughs and it’s the warmest and softest sound he has heard since weeks. God, he had missed that.

“Told ya so.”

“That you did.”

They both take a moment to observe the beauty around them, letting the new impressions fill their minds. Longing had a tight grasp around John’s heart as his attention is always falling back on Arthur. He has no idea why. He can’t go a moment without looking at him, making him feel all giddy. He’s honestly happy for the first time in weeks. He knows, he probably shouldn’t be, he should leave this strange feelings way behind him already as they are just making everything too damn complicated between them.

John had never been a man with much defiance. Especially not if it came to Arthur.

Damn, if that sour bastard wouldn’t be so attractive. He still is, despite his sickness that made him age visibly over the last few weeks.

There is three day stubble slowly turning into a beard, encircling the sharp contours of his face. It underlines his overall rough look – Arthur just looks quite hot sporting some stubble or beard. Arthur doesn’t care much about clothes or what he’s wearing, but John thinks, he’s looking good in anything anyway. Arthur is not covered in mud or blood all the time, like John usually is. His facial features display a new softness. He looks happy and calm, despite the critical condition he is in. And John once more envies him for his strength.

If only they could stay in this moment forever.

But they couldn’t. And they were both aware of that.

It is John who has reached the end of this patience and speaks out, what he had been holding back for hours. He doesn’t necessarily want to ruin the moment but he knows, sooner or later they have to talk.

“Hey, look...” He tries. Not sure how to get this conversation started. He is so incredibly bad with these things.

“I don’t wanna keep my mouth shut no more.” he continues, tip toing around it and struggling obviously to find the right words. Right next to him, Arthur furrows his brow at him and wheezes.

“You’ve ever really done that, Marston?” Arthur doesn’t understand what he is referring to, or he might just use his humor to get out of this situation. This time though, John is not having any of it. He gives Arthur a long and intense glare that speaks volumes.

“Arthur, I mean it. Quit foolin’ around with me. You know there’s stuff we need to talk ‘bout.”

“I’m not really sure if I wanna hear anything comin’ out of that mouth of yours.”

“Come on, Arthur! Don’t be so stubborn. You’ve been draggin’ me outta here, ignoring me while we was riding up here and now you tellin’ me there’s no reason we came up here? You always was a bad liar.” John insists the truth with so much clarity, it drives Arthur nuts. John sees him flinch slightly, despite his best efforts to hide how uncomfortable John makes him.

Arthur has grown undoubtedly of having this kind of back and forth discussion with John for nearly 15 years now, he makes a gesture with his hands and declares surrender.

“Fine! Have it your way! So what’s it you so desperately wanna talk ‘bout?” he snarls with his usual venom. But John wouldn’t be John if he didn’t have a few tricks to lure Arthur out of his thick shell he surrounds himself with. It is the best indicator for John that there is something important up the other man’s mind. He is not here to be fooled around no more, he wants answers.

He deserves answers, goddamnit.

“We’re not gonna hunt’ anything, right?” John asks plainly, this time with more confidence. Hidden by the tree’s in the middle of nowhere John feels safe enough to have this conversation, he’d been dying to have for ages now anyway. Right here, there is just the two of them. No gang, no distractions, and as far away from civilization as possible.

“No, I mean- maybe? Jesus. I-…I guess, I’m sorry for being all mysterious ‘bout it. Wanted to make sure we was as far away as possible from camp.” Arthur apologizing has John wondering, what the older man is about to say next. He fears and simultaneously craves it at the same time. Hoping he would finally get some answers to all the questions that were so present and burning in his mind.

Arthur sighs and takes another hit from the cigarette he had lit, before he continues to talk.

“Listen, Marston. It’s been a hell of a few weeks, for the both of us. I know you’re havin’ the same doubts as I do. With Dutch I mean. This whole thing – it’s getting’ out of hand. And I’ve been thinkin’…a lot…” he gets interrupted by a cough and it sounds horrible, looks horrible as well as it’s shaking his whole body. He precautionary offers the cigarette to John, who gladly takes it. For a few seconds John looks quietly worried at his old brother, not sure what to do, relieved when Arthur waves it off and slowly regains control over his respiratory system back. Brave Arthur. Stupid, stubborn but brave Arthur. John puffs out some smoke and listens closely.

“…and came to the conclusion you shoulda’ take Abigail and Jack and run. Get away from this place, as far away as possible, maybe leave country. Dunno where but just-…make sure to get the hell away from Dutch once it all goes down. Lay low for a while and then start over. That’s the only chance you might get…to get outta this alive. This shit with Dutch…it’s insane. He’s insane, can’t be trusted anymore. It seems like I can’t get through to him no more - y’know how many times I tried. Figured he’d lost it when Hosea died but it had started long before that. Blackwater was where he lost it, I suppose. We were just too damn blind to see, I was too blind to see. Talked it through with Sadie an’ Charles, made some plans that need some polishin’ but otherwise it should be safe. They’re going to help, no matter what.” It’s a lot to process, John’s head is spinning with all the new information. His eyes nervously lock on Arthur’s, looking for help he won’t get. He wants to say so much and at the same time nothing.

John exhales deeply and stomps out what’s left of his cigarette.

“So you want me to leave everyone behind and run off like a coward? I’ve been there, Arthur. Don’t wanna go through this again. I wanna stay at ya side once things get ugly. ‘til the very end.”  There was some pride left burning in John’s heart and it was hurt a long time ago. It occurred to be a damn déjà vu. He had promised himself to never run away from his problems again.

Arthur lets out a frustrated growl.

“Damn it, Marston. It’s not about you or that stupid pride of yours. Stop being all self-centered ‘bout it, would ya? It’s not ‘bout picking sides. You owe me nothin’ boy.” and he quickly adds “You was not listening to what I said…it’s all talked through and it’s going to happen. This is your only chance, you fool! And you better take it! You wanna continue to ride with Dutch? You do that, but you might dig your own grave beforehand.”

Arthur is just trying to help, as he always is somehow. That Good Samaritan inside him never seems to retire; it’s his nature, his character. And he speaks out exactly what has been going around in John’s mind for too long. Maybe that’s what triggers something inside John, the nail hitting the head. A part of him he’d completely forgotten about. He has to say it. He just has to. It might be the last thing he ever tells him.

“This better not be a goddamn goodbye, Morgan. I swear…If this is you tellin’ me we gotta part and-…”

“Yes, it well damn is, Marston. ‘Cuz y’know I already told you how it’s goin’ to end. I can’t get out no more. I’ve been ridin’ so long with Dutch now…It’s too late - but you, Abigail an’ Jack? You can.” That came out to quickly and too harshly, it hurt. For a few seconds John just stands there, remains completely speechless. Something inside him shatters the moment Arthur has said it. It’s the exact same thing he’d feared the most.

The only thing that keeps him tied to this gang. To this life.

This was all real.

“I’m not doing this with you.” He retorts rather angrily, trying to hide his hurt. He did not have a choice or a saying in this, no one had asked him. Why is he sad all of the sudden? It feels like a brick sinking in the depth of his stomach. He isn’t sure if his heart continues beating, but it must be, since he is not fainting and dying right here, which he greatly wishes upon for a second.

Arthur reaches out and puts his hands on the other man’s shoulders to force him, to look him straight in the eyes as he chooses his next word wisely. It’s his form of showing he cares. As he always does, with dominance and wisdom. His gaze tears mercilessly into John’s as if he’s staring deep down into his soul.

John feels a tingling sensation going through his whole body when he touches him. He is exposed and vulnerable right now. He would rather get kidnapped by the O’Driscolls or get shot in the heart by a couple of bounty hunters, as to stand here and being forced to keep on listening.

“John, listen. I’m sick. It’s bad, and it’s getting worse every day. I’ve seen the look you’re given me, you know it’s not good news. I’m tired of fightin’ against it and I know…I feel- I don’t have much time left.”

_I don’t have much time left._

It hurts too much. It’s like getting stabbed several times. And Arthur is the one holding the knife.

It’s now on repeat in John’s head, echoing from the emptiness spreading in his heart.

“You don’t say that right now, Arthur.” His resistance is collapsing under weight of Arthur’s words, his voice shaky. God, he hates his own weakness so much. Arthur is his soft spot, his weakness. How is it always Arthur, who is way stronger than he ever could be?

How is he supposed to move on, if there is no more reason to move on?

Arthur is the rock, carving the waves that threatens to hit John when he is helplessly paddling around on the ocean of his own incapacity.

Arthur is the only reason John stays.

He looks back at the older man and it forces his heart to sink some more by the determined look in his eyes.

“Boy you said I was no good liar. You’re right, that I never was. I’m no good actor, either. So I’m gonna be honest with ya here. I’m done, John. This is it, for me at least. Have been fightin’ a lot of fights, but this I’m gonna lose fo’sure.” The gentleness with which he talked about his own death made John hate him. At least that was the only feeling he was really comfortable with. He has always left him out in the cold, as he’d rejected him over and over again, shattering his hopes of having some kind of future together.

“And I want you safe when I’m gone. That’s all I got left. Not gonna accept a ‘No’ here, John. You should get the hell outta here, as I said.” He trails off, before adding quickly with a lower voice:

“Don’t make me fucking beg you.”

_And I want you safe when I’m gone._

John wishes, Arthur would just punch him in the guts right now. It would be easier to handle. It would hurt less.

He feels horrible, like he is drowning without even being near water.

One day he actually almost did. There is the faint memory of that day he’d fall into a river while they were out fishing and almost drowned if Arthur hadn’t saved him (although he’d grown never tired of telling him he should have left him to die.). His limbs had gone all soft and wobbly from fighting against the stream as it threatened to pull him under. He had never learnt how to swim properly. He was cold all over and shaking, coughing water out of his lungs still, even as Arthur had wrapped a blanket around him when they sat in the boat and rowed back ashore. “ _You goddamn fool. Can’t do anything right!”_ he had growled at him as John leaned forward to puke up some more water. His throat had been burning, not sure how he’d managed to swallow so much water and still survive. _You’ve always been a tough dog, Marston._

Arthur had been so mad that day. He had not talked to him for hours, punishing him with ignorance because he knew how much John hated that. It was cold and unthankful weather during that time as autumn was about to end, with winter approaching. John was freezing the entire time while they sat around a fire in the night. He had tried to bite his teeth together but it wasn’t crowned with much success.

Deep down Arthur Morgan has a good heart, a soft vulnerable spot he hardly shows anyone. But if it shows, you are instantly taken with his kindness. He could be an asshole sometimes and he had a quite awkward approach of showing that he cared, but he was not that cruel to let John freeze to death. He’d growled some more insults at him, reminding him about his ever growing stupidity…

…and then huddled closer, to wrap his arms around him. He despised the boy, but he couldn’t let him sit there in his underwear, cause being the fool that he’d always been, John had not packed any spare clothes.

Covered in the wool blanket and Arthur’s warm embrace, John quickly forgot about how cold he had been minutes ago - he now felt something else that caused some irritation spreading. Being this close made him realize, how calm it made him to feel Arthur’s heartbeat through the thick fabric. Slow and steady. It stunned him greatly that it wasn’t making him uncomfortable, but felt absolutely right instead. He had looked at him, dumbfounded, overwhelmed with the feelings this small gesture coaxed out of him. To this point, no one had ever held him like this, not even his own parents. It created a conflict inside him, what exactly Arthur was to him in that moment.

A father figure, a brother…or something else.

John was not meant to answer that question on that day, but all of this didn’t feel very brotherly if he was being honest to himself. He had to grow several years older to comprehend its entire meaning. He had mouthed a _“Thank you, I guess.”_ And in typical, cynical Arthur fashion, the older one had just made an angry sound and exclaimed _“You better don’t get used to it, kid. Next time I’m lettin’ you drown.”_ And it had been a bold lie, both of them knew that. +

Cause from now on, Arthur made sure to never leave John near water again.

Now a few years later, he’s wondering about the exact same thing with the exception, that this time he truly knows the answer.

 “Can’t I make my own plans? Just for once? Hell! Why’s everyone tryin’ to tell me what to do? Don’t remember askin’ you to make plans without me.” John interjects defensively.

“Cause you’re not seeing things clearly! This is over, John! It long has been. There’s no need to keep on fightin’, we’re done. This world…they don’t want us no more. Everyone’s chasin’ us down and there’s nowhere we can’t run to anymore. You want some rat like Micah to kill Jack and Abigail? The only good thing ‘bout your miserable life? ‘cause that’s gonna happen! I’ve seen the look he’s givin’ them. And then he talks shit about cuttin’ dead weight and Dutch agrees – couldn’t stand Abigail the moment Jack was born. You know what he means by that. That boy, Eagle Flys. He was stubborn, but he was a good kid. And if it wouldn’t be for him, I would be dead already – and now he’s dead, as well as many other decent people. Dutch left me to die, just as he was doin’ with you. You expect him to take your back? He’s not goin’ to!”

It stung. It hit him like a gunshot right where it hurt the most. It was obvious that it meant so much to Arthur that he was trying to bring his point across with all his natural brutality left in his weak body. Arthur could be cruel and cold as steel when he was trying to hammer some sense into John’s thick skull, but most of the time, he is right about many things. And is always right about Abigail and Jack, his family. It is truly the only good thing left in his life, the only thing he had not managed to fuck up yet, even when he’d done enough wrong to fill up for lifetime. And Dutch? John knew better by now. He sees what the older man has turned into, sees it with his own damn eyes every day. It has been only a few hours ago since he had given him that kind of look that makes the blood in your veins freeze. Dutch is not a valid reason to stay.

“Damn it, Morgan. I know you has been more like a father to my son when I was! No need to rub it in my face every time we talk. I’m  sick of it, Arthur. I really am.” He takes a step forward to get away from the tight grip on his shoulder blades. It’s too much physical contact for his taste, Arthur is too close. It forces old feelings to come back vigorously.

“I’m sick of running away, sick of bein’ nagged on, sick of being…well not good at anything. And you’re standing there, all mighty of the sudden, tellin’ me what kind of man I shoulda been. What’s done can’t be undone. I can’t change the way I’am. I’m a bad man, Arthur, I’m also bad at bein’ a husband and father. Killin and robbin’ people is the only thing I’m good at, honestly. What’s left of me if I can’t do that? It’s not just Dutch Arthur; I can’t just turn my back on everythin’ like it’s been nothin’ to me. You are…somethin’ to me, can’t leave you with all of them sick bastards. This is us, Arthur. This is what we decided to be. Ain’t any more options left.”

“A man can always change, John.” He lets another cough pass and adds:

“Y’know that many times when I was gone, made me learn a thing or two ‘bout humanity, ‘bout gratefulness, ‘bout good and bad. I can’t change my past, hell…can’t do anything ‘bout all the bad things I’ve done. Or the people I killed or hurt. I’m just tryin’ to make things right…’tis is the only thing I got left. I got no family that will mourn me, Marston.” And that last bit especially, sends John right over the edge. It’s more than he could bear in this very second. All the years spent with each other, all the memories made. Good memories for sure and it seems like they were not worth to be mentioned.

…does Arthur not understand what it all means to him? After all these godforsaken years?

“You stupid son of a bitch!” he hollers, a few birds around them get scared off, flee out of the trees with complaint. If the right buttons get pushed, John could go up in the air like a pack of dynamite. All the frustration that has settled down so deeply in his heart comes back to surface now, all at once, in such a forceful manner that it shakes John’s body with relief to finally let it all out. The pain he felt when Arthur rejected him over and over again for reasons, he couldn’t understand, the hope that died when Jack was born, Abigail who keeps reminding him what kind of pathetic man he is, that he doesn’t deserve nothing. Dutch who build him up first only to tear him down in the right moment, disappointment, guilt, the regret of chances missed - Arthur, on top of it all.  Arthur who’d run away from it longer than any of them could tolerate, Arthur, who has never told him a single word about what that mattered, Arthur who’d always been too damn proud to admit things. Arthur Morgan, the strongest man he’d known, marked and torn apart by a stupid disease, about to fade into oblivion. Soon he would become a memory of better times in John’s mind, just like all of the things that make him happy, as if he was not allowed to have any luck, not even a tiny bit of happiness left. And he couldn’t stand the thought at all. In the end it occurs, the only thing he couldn’t keep, he has no real control over, was the time he has left with Arthur. Desperation was a nasty contemporary. John Marston has never felt more desperate as in this moment.

To be aware of all of this.

To know, that this might be a goodbye, forever.

John is not ready to let Arthur go – if he ever was. God knows John would have jumped in front of a train if it meant he could save Arthur. He would do pretty much anything, if it would just buy them more time.

Time on earth is limited for everyone and he can’t do shit about it, that’s the way this whole world works.

And all of these weird feelings he has concerning Arthur, always so present in his mind when they aren’t needed, when John doesn’t want them. They have no other way but out, as John continues to spit them right into Arthur’s face, cause there sure as hell wouldn’t be a better opportunity coming along to do so.

“I care ‘bout you, you miserable old fool! Always did. When we was kids…I think I-“

There is a sudden lump in his throat that prevents him from saying it out loud. The panic that starts to show in Arthur’s eyes and the change in his voice as he speaks don’t help much either.

“Shut up now, Marston. Please.” It’s a soft begging coming from a broken man who’d hoped, that the whole conversation wouldn’t take such a turn. The expression on Arthur’s face almost says, that he doesn’t want, even pleads John to not go on. Once it’s out, it can’t be unheard and then both John and he are destined to remember it forever.  John knows that he’d already sensed what is about to come. Arthur isn’t stupid like him. He can easily read him like a book if he wants to.

“…I love you. It’s true.” John ends, relief washing over him like a warm summer rain, now that he is finally free to say it, there are no imaginary restrictions left. His voice has automatically dropped while doing so. Seconds pass, with none of them being sure what to say next, a whole felt eternity of staring at each other blankly. They both have not been prepared for this. The _thing_ they’ve planned on never ever mentioning again. And it had caught Arthur completely off guard, bringing back all the memories attached to it and flooding his overstimulated mind, when he is just meant to tell his goodbyes and be done with it. He has problems coping with it, John can literally feel it over the intense of his staring.

The endless nights falling asleep in each other’s embraces, in a sloppy makeshift tent, far away from home, bending the boundaries of brotherhood. Skin on skin, raw, heated kisses, with some sweet nonsense whispered in between as they experience something, none of them had an explanation for. Young John and much older Arthur - together, inseparable. That was only a year ago after that incident at the river.

_“So…What are we doin’ Arthur?”_

_“ Dunno. Can you just shut up?”_

_“Alright.”_

And they kissed until the sun rose and they had to pack up quickly and return to camp. Hosea and Dutch held them a preaching about sneaking out in the middle of the night and not returning for 2 days straight without a word. It earned them a full week of unpopular camp duties but it had been worth it, always was. They had completely lost all sense of time. That’s how engulfed they were with each other’s presence. It happened again afterwards.

And again. And again.

…until things started to get ‘serious’ with Abigail. And Mary Gillis was more part of Arthur’s life than John had been. From this day on, it went downhill with them. No kisses, no intimacy. Just a nod and a minimum of words exchanged when they met. It had ruined everything. They had ruined it themselves. John doesn’t remember the exact point it all went to hell. There had been plenty in the past.

Roughly a whole year before the Blackwater heist that had just been a slight Idea in their minds so far – to make this one big, decent score. There was enough money on that boat to provide stability and a real home for all of them. And they were already planning and preparing for a few months now but it was not yet to become reality. Only much later.

Abigail had been, if only, a nice thing to look at during that time and she constantly switched tents, not really having a favorite so far. They had passed her around camp like a high priced horse, it was quite disgusting but a normal thing to do, men were just men after all and they had their needs. With Arthur being the only one to never lay a finger on her. Had earned him some mocking from John and the others. _“Think you’re above this, Morgan? You’re having high standards now?”_ It must’ve kind of hurt her pride to that time. Arthur is a strong, good looking man, with a generous nature, a certain charm you can't resist and he has manners, unlike Bill and Davey, who weren’t so shy about spilling every detail of their private time with Abigail. Mary-Beth had called him a hopeless romantic, a true gentleman. It made John nearly spit out his beer.

If she only knew, how ungentlemanly Arthur could get when they were far away from camp. When it was just the two of them and no one else.

Not that any of it mattered much, as John and Arthur had only eyes for each other for the longest time. It was hard to hide, there had been some forbidden looks exchanged and some moments in which they should have been more careful.  John had not always been careful. They would never admit to one another but the fact Arthur never gave in to Abigail sweet-talking him, made all the difference. It wasn’t a real relationship whatever they had going to that time but it was an unspoken rule, that they would never openly betray each other with someone else.

For the longest time, this worked out just fine, until Arthur overstepped that line.

With Arthur always being so aware not to hurt the ones he loved, with being so damn overprotective with all the girls in camp, John would have never imagined him to be the one to fuck it all up. That had always been John’s job so far, to fuck things up so badly that they couldn’t be fixed anymore.

Suddenly they had reached some kind of low point, their moments spent with each other growing rare cause there had been a lot of talking around camp and Arthur got scared for the first time, it would all come out – and alongside he had built a pretty thick wall around his feelings for John and let him run against it mercilessly with full force many times.

_“It’s not gonna be this way forever, boy. We can’t just go out and be a couple or somethin’. Jesus. Just look at us.”_

For over a whole month or even longer, John and Arthur had not been doing jobs together, not really talked, left alone spend much time with each other until the whispering and the curiosity died down.

They had both started to have their own things going, earning their keep in camp and contributing with jobs and ideas. John showed high ambitions to impress both Hosea and Dutch, so he kept himself pretty busy with a lot of different things he thought he was good at – it was partly for the sake of distraction so he wouldn’t waste a single thought on Arthur and how he was not giving him the attention he was used to get from him. It caused some feelings in young John, he would have never thought to be possible. He was downward uptight, so much, he had gotten quite a few charming offers from both Abigail and other women to get rid of some of the _tension_ – he had gladly declined them. He had made a promise to Arthur and it mattered too much to him to break it. John found a different way to ease his needs: he was now ten times angrier than he had ever been in the past, which earned him a pretty questionable reputation inside and outside camp – some saloons he couldn’t put a foot in anymore, left alone whole cities. He had gone from being the golden boy, to being the most despised man in camp, which was quite a deal since the competition wasn’t really fierce. There was just Micah ahead of him and well, that position was hard to argue with. His interest in woman had quickly died down, much to Dutch’s personal amend. Good thing Dutch never knew about the backgrounds of John’s anger.

If only he had to realize soon, that Arthur wasn’t as endeavored to restrict himself to just one person.

Arthur rode a lot with Charles nowadays, and sometimes brought Lenny along too, much to John’s dismay, because he knew Lenny was almost the same age as him. Lenny kind of took John’s place away, of being Arthur’s naïve, ever learning sidekick. And for a man – that much John was able to put a finger on - he wasn’t exactly bad on the eye either – didn’t help much, that Arthur was fascinated by him and his improving talent for robberies of all kind.

For a touch starved, affection craving John, this had done a real number on his self-control and he was probably interpreting things on a completely wrong level. That’s how his feelings were during that time. Whenever he saw him returning, he wanted him right then and there. He wanted to rip his clothes and ravish his body, mark him as his own.

Because John Marston wasn’t all good with sharing and most of all – he was a jealous and throughout a fucking blind Idiot.

Even more so, his unchained jealousy was about to destroy everything.

There had been a lot of wondering and wildly into the blue guessing, why Arthur and John were always out together and why they hardly brought someone else with them. No one hardly cared enough to investigate further though, much too their luck. By all means, both John and Arthur had an agreement on rather keeping it a secret – the feelings that were developing between them during that time had been still somewhat fragile and could easily be destroyed if the wrong people would take notice. They are still just a bunch of Outlaws after all and Arthur took his position right next to Dutch’s and Hosea’s side very seriously, maybe a little too serious for John’s personal taste, but he let him, he was not going to fight him on it, let him have the honor of being in the middle of the three. John had long steadied his place in Dutch’s gang, he knew what the older man saw in him and had his chances to impress him and climb up that ladder of gang hierarchy. He had always been one step ahead of Bill, Javier and luckily Lenny as well, that was enough to feed his oversized ego. And Dutch’s attention was good and it was soothing, but the only attention he really mattered about, he deeply dreamt about, was the one Arthur could offer.

Two male Outlaws sharing a tent and a bedroll quite frequently wasn’t such a common or accepted thing – that did count to the more delicate things no one knew about thankfully and there were a million reasons why they had to be all discreet about it. And it fueled John’s pride even more that he was the only one being special enough for Arthur to share it with. Sometimes though, he wished he could have told all of them openly, just for the sake of eliminating unwanted competition.

John had once tried to ask Dutch when it had first started, way back when him and Arthur just were a bunch of horny kids, getting it on from time to time. John was too dumb to fully comprehend, if there was any difference between men and women, if only anatomically. He was a simple man and lacked the proper education for such topics. Dutch had listened to his rambling and given him nothing more than a furrowed brow and a plump explanation that made even open minded Dutch looking like a closed up nun. _“It’s not right, son. Two men should not lay with each other.” “Can a man marry another man, Dutch?” “No, he can’t and he shouldn’t. Enough with the questions now.”_

Hosea had been a little more open about it by assuring him Dutch had not gotten over Annabelle’s death yet and therefore wasn’t the right person to ask for advice. _"He's still bitter and healin' son. It takes some time. Don't be unforgiving with him."_

He had given him a rather proofing look and inquired if John’s question was inflicted with some kind of personal involvement with _someone_. It had shocked John so much, that he lied straight to Hosea’s face that day, although deep down he knew Hosea was not like Dutch – Hosea was understanding and loving, he would have never said anything.

Something he deeply regretted, even after so many years later. Maybe it would have changed things. The connection Hosea and Arthur shared had always been deeper than the one he shared with Dutch, if only just a little. Hosea could have talked some sense into Arthur.

Arthur understood the true meaning of it because he’d always been older and wiser. John had pretty simple and more carnal thoughts about it. He thought of Arthur as his brother and his fuck buddy for as long as he can remember - someone he could blow off some steam with – and that couldn’t be such a bad thing right? he had once heard, it was a pretty common thing to do if men were left too long in the company of their own. For John it sprawled out extremely simple. It had been purely of sexual interest at first.

He’d never imagined to be falling so hopelessly for the other man. But that he did, and he was falling so hard for him, that he now understood why this kind of closeness, this intimacy with someone scared Arthur enough to put a halt on it every once in a while. It made a man more vulnerable than he should have been. If you had a 50:50 chance of getting shot every day, vulnerability could be your downfall.

They were grown men now, 22 and 32 years old to be exact, so there wasn’t much questioning going around and the general interest had died down enough for Arthur to reconcile this thing he had going with John - if only partly. John had the feeling Arthur wasn’t really putting as much heart into it as he did.

Maybe the interest had also died down, because Arthur was known to visit someone, a waitress he had once met. That’s as much as he had told everyone and that was also as much information, as John would get out of him, when his jealousy was getting him hot headed and unreasonable and he was pestering Arthur with questions enough for the older man to storm off angrily a few times. He had no idea if it should have given him the heads up to be suspicious or not and it drove him mad. Arthur was a pain in the ass if it came to personal things, there was not much John knew about his past life or sometimes even his present life. He had no idea where he disappeared to when he was gone for days. He would be as closed up as a mollusk about it.

No matter how angry John got, how much he begged, he would tell him nothing. “ _It’s nothin’, don’t you worry ‘bout it, boy. Beside, we haven’t made any promises to each other, so hold ya damn horses, once and for all.”_

Later he’d found out, it had been indeed a reason to worry about, Arthur had just played his cards well enough for no one to fully realize it, especially John – maybe that had been his plan all along. Not the waitress he’d been seeing for a short while, but the day he brought Mary Gillis to camp, John was furious and he hated her the minute he set eyes on her, for her sheer presence, for being there and ruining everything. More so, he felt betrayed and ridiculous, questioning if all that had happened between them had been a joke to Arthur. 

While Arthur continued to be nothing but polite and caring towards Abigail, John wasn't planning on doing the same with Mary. In fact, he did the complete opposite of what Arthur did. John was an angry, bitter and heartbroken bastard. He wouldn’t bite back his hate – he rather shoved it right into her face with every opportunity he got. His lack of respect towards her showed through all of his words, all of his actions and it caused a lot of fights. Sometimes there was a fist involved to put him back into his place, teach him some manners.

John remained angry. Nothing could ever erase his anger, not as long as Mary was around.

It was been the first time he had experienced something close to heartbreak, the searing pain it brought, like someone had been cutting his heart in a half and burnt parts of it. And it hurt worse, than the occasional bruise he would get from Arthur trying to punch some sense into him. A bruise would heal over time for sure but what about a broken heart?

He’d seen it with Dutch. He was still grieving Annabelle and it poisoned all of his past relationships. John could now sympathize a lot with Molly these days. She just had the bad luck to be the woman trying to fill the empty space Annabelle had left. Only that John didn’t have anyone who could fill that empty space.

John wasn’t good at dealing with this kind of emotions; he was absolute shit with it. He was searching for an outlet. And he’d found it soon in Abigail. Blind with jealousy and hurt, it had lead John right back into her arms, and shortly after into the same bedroll because that’s what a man with no self-esteem and pride left does.

It wasn’t much but it was something – and part of him wanted to cause Arthur the same pain he had caused him. How dumb he had been to even think about it in that way.

Fucking Abigail didn’t feel remotely as good as getting fucked by Arthur, first and foremost because she was a woman and she was not Arthur. She had different parts, womanly parts John took advantage of, parts he was familiar with but half of the time didn’t know what to do with properly.

Women were a mystery to him he couldn’t quite figure out. They made weird noises when aroused, John never knew if he was doing something right or not, it was frustrating. Was she in pain or in pleasure? He had no idea. Abigail was always frustrated and downright bossy with him if they got intimate. She constantly grabbed his hands and led them wherever she wanted to be touched, mocked him, rolled his eyes at him when he came to fast – cussed at him when he had suggested to take her from behind, for the sake of making it less awkward. At some point she had even said _“Damn you John Marston! I’m not a man! Be a little more gentle, try at least.”._

It made John feel even more like an Idiot.

He missed Arthur’s face when he groaned sweet insults at him, missed the feeling of his thick, large dick buried inside him, missed the soft hair on his chest and the way he shot his load all over John’s body when he’s was coming undone. There were no strong legs pressing him down in the heights of pleasure and her moans were to over to top, too high pitched to imagine someone else right there. John went through it like the man he imagined he was only to feel a little bit of pressure leaving him, but it only increased and got worse. And he thought about Arthur and how he was fucking Mary Gillis, how he had not told him, rejected him several times, betrayed him, broke his heart and still held it in such a tight grip, that John wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive him.

It only made him fuck Abigail even harder.

He suffered mostly silently until Abigail announced her pregnancy – how could she not be after all, it was just the more or less logical outcome. It all went downhill from there, like some sort of bitter chain reaction, a twist in the universe - as if all of the bad things had been postponed to be happening now all at once. Not just the heist in Blackwater, also John’s and Arthur’s brotherhood, or whatever that was left of it anyway. With no money earned, too many people dying, Mac and Sean getting imprisoned, Abigail nagging him about not being a good father to a kid that might not even be his own, Dutch losing his shit, and Arthur being equally shitty about it, because Mary had long run off and he still couldn’t decide between her or his feelings to John – somewhere down that line John had enough. He left. He just saddled his horse and rode off with no real destination in mind. For a whole year. There was no reason for him to stay. And if someone would have told him, he would only make it worse and drastically decrease his chances of ever having a future with Arthur, he would have stayed probably.

There’s this thing with decisions – you have to live with the consequences they bring, good or bad. Once made, you can’t go back. John had learned it the hardest way possible.

When he returned everyone was welcoming him back with more or less open arms – except Arthur. That little bit of trust and affection that had been left, was now burnt to a crisp by the fire of John’s stupid heartbroken wrath. Arthur wouldn’t ride with him anymore – he made it a commonplaceness to avoid his presence at any cost. They exchanged just the absolute minimum of words. The mocking had reached a new level of sourness – with John being away, Arthur had filled the gap and pretty much taken upon the role as a father figure to Jack – hell even Abigail had grown so fond of him, it made John feel replaced. The older man had all the right reasons to doubt John’s suitability as father and husband and he made sure to let him feel it every chance he got. For a while, John couldn’t decide if this was worse than getting rejected. Arthur’s behavior had torn him apart until there had been nothing left in John. Nothing but sweet melancholy for the things that once had been, for the things that could have been if he wouldn’t have run off like a coward. John wasn’t ready to take all of the fault – Arthur’s stubbornness had added a good amount of misery as well.

If only John Marston would have been a little less of an idiot and more of a man.

John had never really succeeded to repair what had been broken during that time. Arthur was an unforgiving bastard about it all for an awfully long time. Eventually they spoke and eventually they forgave each other – but the love they once shared remained shattered. And whatever parts of it that were left, Arthur made sure to bury as well.

_“This thing with us? We’re done John. You’ve made your choice, I’ve made mine. It’s better that way.”_

Years later, they find themselves having that same discussion, but this time the dynamics of their relationship have altered.

“We promised to never talk ‘bout that again. You promised.” Arthur tries, his voice unnaturally broken sounding. If John looks close enough, he can even see something remotely close to nervousness in his blue eyes. He wants to run, but there is nowhere to run. Arthur Morgan never runs away.

Wherever he would go, John would follow him, even if it was to the edge of the world. There was no mistaking about that at all.

“I don’t care what I promised. Fuck making promises. Didn’t turn out so well for you either! You promised to never leave me.” John interrupts, taking a step towards him to see if it’s alright to do so. They are so close, he can feel Arthur’s discomfort and struggle, as he is trying for the right words.

_Just say something, goddamnit._

The old comfortable smell of gunpowder, tobacco and oak wood hits John’s nostrils like some sort of crazy aphrodisiac, making his knee’s weak and his stomach all fluttery. He might have been sick and worn out, but he is still Arthur. And he is still highly attractive, still breathtaking. There is his warmth, the gentle looks in his blue eyes – it means familiarity.  John on the other hand, is a wild, bold man without patience, his perfect counterpart. And his patience has long run out.

If this would be the last day they had left together, what does it matter anyway?

Overwhelmed by his own need, John leans over and crashes their lips together in a rough kiss. It takes Arthur a few seconds, but he replies with the same passion, although sensually holding back at first.

It’s pretty much like a chain reaction, like something that has been withheld for so long, there is no other logical outcome. There is no judgement left in Arthur as John’s tongue invades his mouth with harsh dominance. When Arthur puts his hands on his face to intensify the kiss, John acknowledges the strength left in Arthur as he’s showing him, that John is indeed an arrogant prick and needs to stop being so demanding and needy. Everything he isn’t able to explain, he puts into this kiss. And Arthur responds too eagerly to persist that it’s purely one sided. Through the gentleness with which he responds, John knows he is feeling the same.

“Stop it.” John had already started to pull at Arthur’s shirt as the older man breathes hotly into his mouth, trying to catch his breath in between. John is eager to give him what he wants. His lust is peaking, taking Arthur’s resistance like an invitation to go on. He manages to mumble a quick “No.” under his breath and pulls him even closer, his tongue once again invading Arthur’s willing mouth, like he is trying to proof something so obvious. Their bodies are flush together. He wants him so bad; he fears he might explode if this takes any longer.

Eventually the moment ends with Arthur ruining it, completely. He takes his chance, pulls away and slaps him hard across the face, leaving the man to back off and whining in pain.

“I said stop it!” Arthur yells, panting hard. John is still taken aback by his sudden outburst.

What had he done wrong this time?

“You lost your goddamn mind, old man?” John screams back in all his childish hurt, rubbing his aching cheek. He can still feel Arthur’s hand on there. Arthur is still pretty strong as it occurs, his mistake to underestimate that.

“Damn you, Marston. It’s not the time to-“

“When’s ever the right time, Arthur? You tell me. ‘cause I think there never is with you! I swear you drivin’ me crazy on purpose, son of a bitch. There, lemme say it again: I love you! I love you so much, it fucking hurts.” He half expects Arthur to punch him again, but this time he behaves, just standing there, turning into a pillar of salt.

“I know it ain’t right, I know I’m crazy for even sayin’ it. But it’s true. That’s the only thing I’m so very, very sure ‘bout. It’s never been different y’now.” John tries to get underneath Arthur’s stonecold shell, tries his very best to get through to him. His words are like daggers; aimfully putting holes into the barricade the older man had carefully build around his heart.

“And I can’t stand losing you, you sour old bastard. It’s breakin’ me apart to know that…” he pauses for a moment, not wanting to speak it out loud, cause that means it would soon become reality. Arthur doesn’t interrupt him. He listens to his wild rambling, or at least acts like he does.

“…that you’re gonna leave me. One day, you’ll just be _gone_. I know you’re sick dammit, I know you’re dyin’ and it’s makin’ me fucking sick to know I can’t do shit ‘bout it. Can’t help you, can’t safe you. Nothin’. I-I…I feel like this is a bad joke. I just came back ‘cause of you. And I’ll never ever leave without you. I can’t. Don’t you ever dare make me, Morgan.”

Arthur finally says something but’s not really the reaction John would have expected.

“Jesus, John. Hold ya damn horses, will ya?”

“This ain’t fair Arthur!” John has balled his hands to fists the entire time, his fingernails leaving red streaks in his palms, pressing so hard that it almost draws blood. His sight is getting blurry, something he hasn’t experienced for so long; he can’t remember what it’s like. And right on his absolute low, his weakest point, Arthur is there. He partly he wants him gone, but only partly. He more wishes he could stay forever.

Because wherever John goes, Arthur goes as well. He is always there.

How is he going to cope after all, if that isn’t the case anymore?

“You’re right. It isn’t.”

It’s release that John feels, when strong arms wrap around him. It’s what he secretly hoped for. John immediately seeks the warm embrace he’s been withheld for too fucking long, his body melting completely into it. His head leans against Arthur’s chest to bury his face there and prevent the tears from falling. John bites down on his lips hard enough until he faintly tastes blood. He inhales Arthur’s smell like it’s the best thing he knows, like he wants to imprint his smell on his mind so he never forgets it, concentrates firmly on his heartbeat. No, he wouldn’t bawl like a lady in distress now. Not today, or ever. John Marston is not going cry over Arthur Morgan, that ruthless bastard.

There is something very intimate about the hug they share, right here, up on a mountain in the middle of the woods. It’s having an effect on the both of them. Arthur openly melts into the embrace as much as John. He’s holding him like he’s afraid John will disappear the minute he releases his grip.

 “I dunno what to say. Y’know I’m bad with ‘tis stuff.” Arthur admits meekly, trying to sound as rough and reasonable as always, but it’s not working, he definitely fails completely. John exhales deeply, holding onto Arthur as if his life depends on it. He quietly mumbles something against his chest and the fabric of his shirt.

“Then just say nothin’ at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for teasing but it just seemed so right that these two would withheld themselves the pleasure of getting it on with each other :P I also love writing Sexual Tension - I guess I'm just a natural cocktease. Arthur is a REALLY stubborn bastard in this one, he's constantly conflicted and pretty much stands in the way of his own happiness and John is just the complete opposite and generally a fool, as we know and love him. But he's going to improve, I promise. 
> 
> Next Chapter is gonna be Arthur's POV.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and John spend another day in the mountains, as they try to balance between the fine borders of guilt and responsebility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could contain a little bit of fluff...but it comes with a bittersweet touch.

_New Hanover/West of Ambarino_

 

_\- 1899 -_

 

_(Arthur’s POV)_

Arthur is the first one to wake up in the morning. Beams of soft sunlight are getting through the peaks in his tent as he slowly opens his eyes, a long yawn following. Beside the fact that his tent now seems more like home to him when his place back in camp, he had a good night’s sleep, the best in days so far. He wonders if that’s connected to a certain person close to him, but pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes.

The prospect of having a coffee outside seems mildly promising.

Arthur has gotten so used to being on his own out here that he’d forgotten that he is indeed not alone this time. He gets an actual reminder, when he attempts to rise and get up, finds it impossible though with John’s head resting on his chest and his whole body weight pressing into him. He resides and observes the younger man for a moment, careful not to disturb him. John is not really heavy, boy has always been a little too thin and lanky for Arthur’s taste, but if he wants to he has such a tight grip on Arthur sometimes, it makes him wonder where that younger man is taking his strength from.

They had both agreed on spending the night here, seeing as none of them was all too eager about returning back to camp yet and it had once again started to rain – and eventually the rain had turned into a full, quite decent thunderstorm not much later.  It was turning autumn after all so moody, ever-changing weather was not really surprising.

Over the mountains, they had watched the lighting strike in safe distance for a while and decided, it was indeed too dangerous to ride now. The horses were getting a little nervous as well. They build them a tiny makeshift shelter with a spare blanket that they stretched between two trees. Arthur had suggested that it probably would be a good idea to skip on the fire this time and try it tomorrow, when it stopped raining. They wouldn’t be lucky to find dry wood for it anyway.

In Arthur’s opinion, John had been a little too cheery about staying so he made sure to be the voice of reasoning and kept reminding John that one way or another, they had to go back. They couldn’t stay here forever and he’d better accept that. John has responded – in his all too familiar, bold manner – “ _Leave it, Morgan. Just for once, will ya?”_ And Arthur had not been very interested in protesting as he got the tent ready.

Good thing, he had brought the tent with a more reliable, weatherproofed canvas. That thunderstorm had been getting nasty over the last few hours and his normal tent would have not withheld it.

He comes to this exact conclusion, when he sees John’s tent and bedroll getting completely soaked and unusable for the night. There had been a puddle of water forming at the base as John just stood there, looking as dumbfounded as ever. Arthur rolls his eyes at him, tells him he’s a fucking joke to mankind and of course – against his own will and with gritted teeth – offers John to sleep in his.

John is an Idiot. He is constantly babbling nonsense, not caring much if Arthur wants to hear it or not. It shows during so many occasions, too many for Arthur to list them all. Arthur had been pretty unnerved with his boldness already and the prospect of sharing a tent with John came with rules, obviously. So he made sure to slow him down beforehand. Wouldn’t want that man to get all too smitten with his offer and try anything stupid.

 “ _You better behave then.”_  But when John huddled closer under the soft light of the oil lamp and the raindrops hitting the canvas of the tent from outside, Arthur had given in to his faith and didn’t come up with much resistance when John’s arms wrapped around him, because what else but: _“just tryin’ to keep warm, asshole.”_ either purposefully or accidently, that question Arthur was not meant to answer. With John you could never be completely sure. The touch was quite unmistakable though. He was lucky it had been too cold, summer had long passed, otherwise John would have undressed to wind him up some more – and Arthur would have thrown him out, thunderstorm or not.

The sneaky bastard is still deep asleep beneath him. And he’s probably no going to wake any time soon, until Arthur makes him. It’s always been like that. John can sleep through gunfire, Arthur is an early riser. John is lazy and not doing camp duties unless you force him to, Arthur is the first one to volunteer if there’s work to be done. Despite being so utterly different which has led to many arguments and being at each other’s throat about it, they somehow made it work every time in the end. Arthur ponders, if he’s ever been annoyed and equally loved someone so much. No money in the world could buy him the happiness he gets of spending time with John that part he has worked out upon years of riding together. But as Arthur is as much of a stubborn mule as John is, he’s not going to tell him. Arthur Morgan likes to keep it his secret.

He’s also keeping the extent of how much he truly adores John a secret. Not to mock him, but to keep that safe space of distance. Arthur has learnt that being this close to one another can be dangerous. It can cause pain. Love is not to have without pain; both emotions are equal in weight and meaning. While John has told him couple of times how beautiful he thinks he is (“ _Stop talkin’ so much shit, Marston_.”), Arthur is not so vocal about any of this stuff. He is good at making snarky remarks, but awfully untalented if it comes to say the right thing. He’s not really a traditional romantic. Arthur often feels like a wild bison stomping all over John with his withheld affection. He wonders mostly, what John sees in him that makes him stay all the time when he should have better been leaving. Mary left him. She didn’t have the stamina John had.

You don’t get to see John Marston like that very often. He rarely calms down. Now he’s just peaceful and quiet. The older man enjoys it far too much. There are indeed ways to shut him up but it’s only a few and they are all just for a certain amount of time. John just needs the right encouragement, so to say. Sleep is a safe option, Kissing also and well…fucking. If Arthur’s all over him and ready to get it on, he forces some more primal noises coming out of that big mouth, but they cease speech almost eternally. Sometimes, John takes that big mouth of his to better use, which Arthur has been particularly lucky of experiencing in the past.

There’s a strand of John’s black hair falling into his face and Arthur reaches out to stroke it away. It’s a mess as usual. All unruly and wild like John’s whole personality.

He takes in every detail of John’s face, as if he’s trying to engrave every little facial structure into his mind. His thumb traces the scars on his jaw and back to the softness of his lips. Arthur doesn’t know what will happen to him once he is no more, but as long as he’s allowed to forever remember what John looks like, what he smells like when he deeply inhales his scent and what he tastes like, when he kisses him, hell doesn’t seem like such a bad place anymore.

That last gesture stirs some attention from the younger man. He softly opens one eye first, blinks at him. Arthur quickly takes his hand away and clears his throat, as if he’s been caught doing something forbidden. John smiles beneath his chest. _Cheeky Bastard_.

“Mornin’ to ya.” He cover’s his embarrassment with sounding relatively indifferent but it’s no challenge for John to figure things out.

“Mornin.” John replies, his voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

Arthur gives him a subtle sign to move but he doesn’t make much of an attempt to do so. John wants some playtime as it seems, he’s got that look on his face to proof it.

John grins wolfishly as his hand wanders downwards, dangerously circling the part right under Arthur’s belt. Arthur makes a bewildered noise, grabs his hand and guides it back upwards before it gets too close to certain areas. He wonders - for the hundredth time - if that damn man has gotten a single drop of modesty left in his body. John comes with a seemingly insatiable hunger, he can switch between two moods in seconds and it’s not clear if the younger one might have a split personality he had never told him about.

John grabs him through his trousers, causing Arthur to growl both in surprise and growing arousal. It’s a clear sign, shows him how long it’s really been - and how much he originally seeks to touch him.

“Really, John?”

John doesn’t answer for a while and instead, maneuvers himself on top of Arthur. He’s fast, too fast. Arthur can’t keep up with his damn pace, as he’s already fiddling nervously with his belt to get it off. His growing excitement is pressing into Arthur’s belly. As if he needed any more certainty of that.

“That answer enough?” John’s eyes are dark with lust, he looks almost devilish. He’s a goddamn animal, the way he moves back so carefully that his ass grinds right into his lap, right where it creates that friction that makes Arthur whimper in anticipation.

“You’re unbelievable.” Arthur grits his teeth to suppress the moan that tries to leave his throat when John is so very close to him, that he can feel his heat radiating through his clothing. The air in the tent already feels too thick to breathe. Maybe that’s also because it’s been raining and everything is still a little damp - probably a mixture of both things.

John goes down on him as if he’s famished. He places kisses all over Arthur’s neck, rips open his shirt, continues there. He licks a soft trail down his skin, puts some of it between his teeth and bites down, getting a “You stop this, now.” out of Arthur. Arthur doesn’t know what to do against it but he’s well aware, if he doesn’t take actions right away to stop John, he won’t have much of a choice left - he would be too far gone to stop. John has a questionable talent of awaking needs in Arthur he thinks to have long forgotten about. And it takes him all his willpower to put his hands on John’s tights and give him a tug.

 “Move now, I gotta release myself.” The only way to deal with a very lust driven John, is to throw him off and stop him right away.

And when John still doesn’t make an attempt to be very obedient, Arthur has no problems shifting his weight, seeing as he’s still the stronger one, grabbing his tights and pushing him off of himself forcefully. Admitting, the lack of warmth and even more John’s body makes him whine in desperation for a moment. He hadn’t been exactly willing to end this, hell how could he when it gets offered so willingly to him – but with Arthur being the more responsible one of the two, he knows that he had to. There are more than enough reasons. At least two of them are left back in camp. No matter how much his heart and body aches for John, no matter how long it has been, it’s not right. He’s done with stealing John from Abigail. In John’s opinion, this is of course only half the truth as he had so gladly accepted to be stolen from her in the first place.

The look on John’s face is priceless: somewhere between dumbfounded and mildly frustrated as he lays there, legs spread and his pants tenting. Sometimes that’s been an invitation and fueling his motivation to try harder, you could take it both ways.

“The hell Morgan? You bein’ real ‘bout this, you moody fool?” John probably expects some mercy, but Arthur is not having it with him. Today - no means no. He’s a dying man, John should finally know his place and leave his goddamn hands off of him, but that only seems to spur him on even more, that sick bastard. It’s not going to delay his fate but it’s only making it harder in the end to leave him behind.

“I just got up. Don’t be such a goddamn animal, ‘tis way you might not get thrown off. Take it as you want.”

Arthur leaves him to his lonesome and steps out of the tent to release himself somewhere.

Raindrops are glistening on leafs in the upcoming sun, painting the sky a combination of red, orange and yellow. There are a few dark clouds left hanging in the sky but it’s otherwise clearing up nicely. There’s a reason he likes to be up early. He thinks about making a fire soon, so he can finally have that damn coffee he’s been longing for. Maybe it could use a shot of Whiskey also, to will away the arousal still putting his mind at ease and making it almost impossible to function properly.

It’s also quite a task to pee with a growing hard on. _Damn you, John Marston._

John is quick and fast as he sneaks onto poor Arthur, nearly giving him a heart attack. His arms wrap around him from behind and John’s face buries itself in the curve of his neck. He’d probably taken Arthur’s sudden mood change as some kind of Foreplay and intention to push harder. And that he does with excellence. John’s own hard on is pressing noticeably against his back and that fool is not even shy of hiding it.

 No modesty at all. _Sick bastard._

“John.” His name falls from his lips like some form of hopeless prayer. Arthur let’s out a gasp when John continues to rub against him. How can one man want him so much? It’s not right. _Leave it already, John._

“Not in the fuckin’ mood. Back off now, Marston.” Who is he bullshitting here? He’s like candlewax in John’s hands. That man knows how to get his way.

John’s voice is sweet and persuasive in his ear, hoarse and hot. Arthur inhales sharply through his nose.

“Come on, Arthur, stop bein’ all defensive ‘bout it. Haven’t touched you since ages. You stop tellin’ me lies you’re not in the mood. I can feel you, you sorry sack of shit – tells me somethin’ very different.” He mumbles. Way to state the obvious, it’s always been one of his doubtful talents. Arthur can feel a shiver running down his spine, as John nibbles at his neck. It’s a soft gesture but’s been too long and Arthur wants him to stop but at the same time, go on. It’s bringing back so many pleasant memories and it shouldn’t feel half as good as it does.

Arthur is greatly annoyed with him already, if he just wouldn’t want him so much equally. He tries his best to ignore him, although it’s hard when John’s hands wander around his upper body and even harder when his hands are grabbing his freed dick in such a skilled manner. Arthur’s breath hitches, damns himself, damns John even more. That boy is a pest through and through. Always eager to get what he wants and shouldn’t be as good with his hands as he is. It’s hard to tell him to stop, when he’s putting so much effort into getting him all hot and bothered.

“This ain’t right no more.”  Arthur’s arousal is peaking and it’s at this point, that he can’t deny it and soon, can’t stop it either. His body is betraying him, begging to be touched, after he has been withholding himself the pleasure for far too long. It’s the complete opposite of what he usually wants and he kind of hates himself for his lack of resistance. In John’s tight grip, he is hardening indefensibly.

“S’that so?” his voice is lust ridden and so low-key, it makes holding back almost impossible. There is this primitive need rising inside Arthur, one of the kinds when he just wants to grab John and fuck him against the tree, punish him with extremely slow and tender touches for his arrogant behavior. Slow is a word that doesn’t exist in John’s vocabulary and Arthur knows, how much it irks him when things are not working to a certain pace. He fucks like he rides his horse. Hard and unforgiving.

“Get off, _please_.” Arthur tries to bring his point across by grabbing John’s wrist’s, wrestling himself out of his tight embrace, although the loss of their warm bodies touching makes him almost whine in frustration. When they disconnect, both of them are shamelessly aroused as it shows, and breathing heavily as if they had just run for their life. Arthur with his pants unbuckled and his dick out and upright, John still slightly more clothed but also painfully hard. Good thing there was no one passing by. It would have caused a lot of unwanted attention and explanation.

“You gettin’ shy all of the sudden, Saint Morgan?” he spats mockingly. John is now clearly and officially done with Arthur’s spontaneous mood swings. How naïve of Arthur to think, John could even try to see it any differently.

“You’re an insatiable, dirty fool John Marston. Can’t always get what you want. It told you, a long time ago, we’re through with this stuff. You got a family left back in camp, a wife. Stop being such a goddamn disgrace.”

“I thought you’d like that ‘bout me?” John furrows his brow and eyes Arthur up and down, clings a little too long to his still very present arousal and licks his lips in such a shameless manner, it slays Arthur’s refusal like a wild animal its prey. He struggles with words.

“I-I…I do…I mean…Jesus Christ, I did! But’s over. That was a long time ago.”

“Liar, not so long since you kissed me. I felt you. You was getting into it as much as I did! And I can see you now, y’know.”

Once again - way to point out the obvious. That goddamn Idiot.

John is close again and John’s not going to leave him off the hook that easily. He has a valid point despite his wild reasoning: Arthur wants him. He wants to bent him over and fuck him right here in the woods, bury himself so deep into him that he’s screaming out his name until his lungs get sore. He wishes more than anything in this world, they could just stay here a little longer. He knows, it’s not gonna be that way. Time’s ticking, running through his bare hands like sand. There’s the guilt in the pit of his stomach, whenever he reminds himself that John is a taken man, he has been for a while now. He’s no longer his - if he ever had been to begin with.

It kills of his arousal in no time. Arthur has never been one to be jealous much – mostly because his opinion on himself has always been drastically low and therefore the things he thought he truly deserved were rare.

Under right circumstances he can be very possessive. Arthur wants John; it had been the only thing he had always truly wanted and hoped for. And he also wants John all to himself, he hates to admit it.

It’s one thing he doesn’t want to share with anyone else. Hell, he’s given up on himself a long time ago. Let everyone in the gang, especially Dutch, have everything of him if they want so – his protection, his reliability, his whole life - but his love, his whole heart belongs to John like the moon belongs to nighttime.

_It’s all yours to have, dumbass._

He can’t speak it out loud – he just hopes he knows. He doesn’t want to think about how the younger man shares a bed with Abigail as soon as they return. But they do and Abigail loves John – probably as much as Arthur secretly loves John. You have to be fucking blind to not see it – sure, she constantly yells at him, swears that she hates him, wants to put him in a grave in one minute and kiss him in the next. Arthur knows it’s as far from the truth as humanly possible that Abigail Roberts could ever hate John Marston, if all it’s just her trust issues and John’s temper standing in the way of deeper bonding. It’s plastered all over her face whenever she looks at him and Arthur has no idea how John could ever doubt or question it. She’s got that gentle, loving spark in her eyes when she looks at him.

The same spark Arthur gets whenever he thinks about John. That’s why he knows its true love.

It’s not fair to take him away from her. Unlike him, Abigail has a lot more to lose. She is still alive and healthy. He on the other hand is a dying, shadow of the man he had once been – he can’t provide for John’s future because he will play no role in it, only in the form of precious memories. He‘s so close to death, he can feel it’s icy breath draining his life out of him with each passing day, leaving Arthur to think why for gods sake he still spares him, gives him so much more time to suffer and doesn’t already take him to hell right away.

And this last ride is all they got left maybe.

The path Arthur is about to take, John can’t certainly follow him on that one.

And the image of John getting as intimate and close with Abigail, as he does with him hurts Arthur to a point, he can’t explain himself.

“I know. But-…Goddamnit John! I feel guilty. I don’t wanna be this way no more. “ Arthur puts his dick back into his pants and tries to get some much needed space between them.

“You’ve got morals now, old man? Killing and robbing is okay, but you draw the line at betrayal? Me an’ Abigail, we ain’t married you now. Not properly.” That doesn’t help. He wishes he could see things with the same simplicity as John, but Arthur is not as small minded. He sees the consequences it has. It had too many goddamn consequences already to begin with. He’s not meant to be with John, now or ever. And it wouldn’t surprise Arthur if this was fate’s way of having a cruel joke on his behalf. It’s been this way for as long as he can remember – he’s not allowed to have love in his life. That should have gotten through to John’s thick, stubborn head by now.

Apparently not, as the younger man is still so eagerly clinging to him as on the first day they’ve met.

“That makes it less a betrayal? You’re pathetic and dumb.” John pulls at Arthur’s shirt and Arthur is caught up with deciding, if he’s either going to kiss or punch him. John deserves both in his opinion.

It’s when Arthur starts coughing again, both of their anger fades into oblivion and their argument gets postponed. It’s so bad this time, Arthur shoves him away to lean forward and John can see him coughing up blood. It stains the grass underneath them in dark crimson and it’s all over Arthur’s hand now too, running out of his nose. In between coughing and wheezing horribly Arthur regains his control back, only shortly, to look him in the eye. John gets a good eyeful of all the things Arthur always holds back from him.

Fear, Arthur looks scared.

And then he doesn’t have enough strength left to stand and falls over.

John is right with him. He doesn’t want John to see his weakness, how he is slowly dissolving and becoming less and less of a man and more of a shadow. His brown eyes are blown wide with worry and Arthur knows, he’s not going to leave his side, that damn fool. He shouldn’t care so much about him, why in hell doesn’t he just stop already?

Gently, he puts Arthur’s head on his legs, makes sure his body is in a more comfortable position, to help him to breath normally again. There are more coughing fits shaking his body and John continues to sit there, brings their hands together and holds him tight until the coughing subsides.

Bad timing. With them, it’s always bad timing.

Arthur Morgan hates his body for being weak and falling apart, because his mind is still so righteous, strong and clear. It’s his body that is slowly losing the fight as he’s balancing around the borders of life and death. And he’s never been more certain about that than now. His coughing fits are getting worse each day that passes. His lungs feel tight and close to collapsing, like he can’t even provide enough air to ensure their proper functionality anymore.

“Don’t…gimme…that look, Marston. It’s alright.” Arthur presses out, his chest heaving as he inhales and exhales carefully to not trigger another coughing fit.

  _Always the strong kind even when close to dyin’. You’re a tough one, ain’t ya?_ _Or maybe you’re just a goddamn fool, Morgan._

What’s pride worth anyway, if you got nothing left to lose?

He hates it. He’s so done with it. He can’t go on but he knows, he’s not supposed to leave yet. There are people depending on him. He has to provide their safety first, and then he might as well leave this damn world already and end this pathetic misery. He thinks about the women left back in camp. Imagines their faces if he would die right now, reminds himself that they need to be saved, he’d promised them always and forever, to keep them safe. Charles, Sadie, Tilly, Karen, Mary-Beth, Abigail, Jack…and John – his family, the only real family he ever had.

And maybe just that promise to them and John is what keeps him alive. He’s barely a man now, more a ghost of his old self.

“Don’t talk. Spare your energy.”

Arthur laughs sarcastically, humorlessly. His voice almost close to a whisper as John strokes the side of his face. He’s pathetic. Arthur knows his time is running out. There’s too much he wants to tell John, too much they haven’t talked about yet. He can feel his focus slipping away and he’s probably already in delirium when he hears himself talk:

“If I would die right now, wouldn’t be such a bad thing y’know.” and he adds:

“’cuz you’re here with me. And I can imagine worse ways to die.” with as much affection as he can muster and still manage to squeeze out. Arthur is a stubborn fool, unable to show his feelings most of the time. He hasn’t figured out many things in live, most of all love.

All that he knows is, that his love for John is the purest form of happiness he has ever felt and it makes all that’s about to come a little less scary. No matter what happens, no one is going to take that away from him. He’s going to get to keep John, even if it’s just in the form of good memories. For the things he has done, for the sins he has commited it’s probably only fair to not beg for too much forgiveness and good fortune.

He means every word. John grows silent and the grip around his hand tightens. There is a soft kiss being placed on his forehead and Arthur smiles through the gesture, feels completely at peace as his eyes close and darkness surrounds him. The last thing he hears is John whispering his name.

He never adored him more as in this moment. John has gotten stronger and wiser, he never tells him, but it’s the truth. He’s so much stronger than Arthur ever could have been, so much braver – if just for the fact that he so openly and truly continued to love Arthur and never gave up on that hope, that one day, he would show his affection with the same strength. He always loved that so dearly about him, his talent to keep on pushing and trying if it was needed – his never ending trust. John Marston and his stupid wild heart.

And then he’s drifting off to sleep for good.

 

 

\---

 

 

Arthur is not even sure how much time has passed since he pretty much fainted in John’s lap. He senses it must be somewhere between late afternoon and early evening as he slowly shifts beneath his bedroll.

His body feels weak and spent. Maybe he’s actually feeling his age now. How pathetic.

He blinks, waits for his eyes to get used to the light.

Yes, definitely late afternoon, he can see the sun sinking deeper on that little part of horizon he is able to make out between his feet. There’s a pillow made out of clothing underneath his head and a blanket wrapped around his body. His hat has been discarded into the next corner. The blood smeared around his mouth is gone, someone cleaned it off. He sighs in annoyance and tries to wrestle out of his makeshift cocoon as it’s getting uncomfortable.

He knows who’s responsible for this and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“You’re awake.” John states, innocently as a damn priest, sitting next to a fire he had probably made some time ago, a steaming cup in his hand. He carefully watches Arthur as he shifts and groans in annoyance, quite chuffed with himself when he has finally freed his strong limbs and joins John at the fire. His limbs still feel stiff from sleep, every muscle in his body aches with certain soreness. He clears his throat slightly before plopping down in a patch of grass in safe distance to John.

“How long was I out?” he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. John looks at him across the fire. The flames dance in his brown eyes like they are caught in there. It draws his facial structures in a nice way, his wild dark hair and those scars. He can’t help but wonder beautiful he is. He always was beautiful but he’s grown into quite a sight to behold.

It’s one of these moments, Arthur wants to slap himself hard across the face for letting his thoughts even go that direction. They belong elsewhere. That coughing fit and lack of oxygen seems to have killed his last brain cells for sure.

“Dunno. Quite a few hours. Figured you might need the rest.” The way he pronounces it, doesn’t really sit well with Arthur. He had told him – countless times – to leave it be, with all the caring and worrying and generally being there for him, he’s driving him nuts. Arthur had always been someone who’d not so highly thought of himself in that matter. There was never a time in Arthur’s life in which he thought he truly deserved to be taken care of and that hasn’t changed, just because he had gotten sick.

Although John is pretty good at all this caring, he’s going to leave that to him. He eventually had finally grown out of that boy child attitude.

“Well thank you for all the goddamn caretakin’ but I’m alright.” Arthur tries to sound nonchalantly but’s not really working for him or the man across him.

“You’re not. You spat blood and passed out on me!” John insists with all his eager. Arthur responds with a shrug, although John’s fear strokes over that soft spot inside him. He surely had been worried about him and he can’t help, but’s rather cute.

In a matter of fact, John Marston had never actually cared much about others, except his chosen brother. He would have done everything for Arthur with him not even having to bash an eye at him. Arthur never had to say much. John just knew. It was as sweet as it was hopeless. Being the target of his endless affection had steadily melted Arthur’s limits away he had forced onto himself.

He had never stopped loving John, but it was better – for the both of them – if things would finally come to an end. Arthur doesn’t want John to tie his heart to a dying man – it would only cause him the same pain he’d been through too many times already, with Mary, with Isaac and Eliza. He had a wife back in camp, a good woman, alive and in flesh that deserved his attention way more.

It was time to cut lose.

If Arthur Morgan had ever done something so selfless as to give up on his love to John, to set him free to start over.

He had collected enough memories with John to fill up for a lifetime, it would only be fair to let Abigail have her turn.

“Not the first time, been through worse.” John is clearly fed up with his pride but Arthur can’t really help it. He is good at offering help and definitely not used to be at the receiving end, especially since he hasn’t asked John for any of it. The worst part about his sickness might be the fact, people now constantly worry about him, as if he’s made out of glass. And John is the worst of all.

“Fine, have it your way old man. Here, take this.” John hands him the steaming cup and Arthur takes a first sniff at it. It smells horrible and it’s from John, so he better be careful with whatever god-awful mess that Idiot mixed together. Beside the fire, Arthur looks at the mug, back to John and back at the steaming liquid in there. He lets out a long sigh.

“What’s that? You’re tryin’ to poison me, boy? No need for that, I’m already dyin’” Arthur gruffs, continuing to eye the mug suspiciously. He is unwilling to take anything prepared by John – his experience told him several times that the boy couldn’t cook, at all. Wouldn’t be such a surprise if that’s what’s keeping him thin after all.

John doesn’t seem all too affected by his endless bickering, he’s used to it by now. He smiles softly.

“It’s somethin’ I made. Some herbs I gathered when you was all lazy and sleepin’. For the coughing, I mean. Trust me it will make it better. Abigail made it for Jack when he was sick.” he explains carefully. Now that’s a surprise. Arthur decides that this kind of subtracts his worries, if only a little. Abigail is by no means a better cook than John but she would never offer something to Jack that could harm him.

And maybe parenthood has finally gotten to John and he had learned a few useful things along the way. If Arthur recalls the first time, John had held his own son after his birth – not much unlike Pearson holding an animal carcass Arthur had brought him to skin and cook – there’s hoping he had improved over time.

“Now that’s reassuring.” Arthur takes a first sip and quickly detects: it tastes as bad as it smells. His eyes start to water a little. There are some herbs in there for sure but he can’t really put a finger on it which ones. It’s also pretty hot. He can feel an uncomfortable burn on his tongue that goes right up his nose and from there all the way down his throat to his bronchial tube.

It takes a while to show effect and Arthur has to cough a few times, but then he has indeed the feeling as if his breathing has gotten a lot easier. The constricted feeling around his chest is almost gone and he is quite positively surprised.

“Thank you.” he says honestly, trying not to make his reply come out too soft. It’s no use. John is already beaming with pride and responds in his usual cocky attitude.

“I’ve gotten better at a lot of things, y’know. No such idiot anymore.” And he’s damn right about that. That man before him had finally grown into the man he should have become a long time ago already. It’s shown through his actions, his words and the way he carries himself now. Finally.

_Took you long enough, John._

Arthur couldn’t have been more proud with him but he’s not the one to let John know. The younger man surely got enough praise for one day.

“Don’t be fooled, you’re still an Idiot.” Arthur assures with a smile playing around his lips. It’s meant in a loving way. No trace of the usual bitterness in his mocking. John returns his smile.

“Yeah, complete Idiot fo'sure…mostly for lovin’ an old, stubborn piece of shit like you way too much.”

John inches closer so he’s now right next to where Arthur sits. His fingers stroke shyly over Arthur’s. It’s a small gesture but despite all his good reasoning, Arthur lets it happen this time. He is not going to snap at him or push him away like he did earlier. He accepts it. There’s a million reasons against it, all the voices inside his brain shouting that it’s wrong, but Arthur shuts them down altogether. He doesn’t want to hear any form of protest now.

John has once again successfully teared down his barriers.

It occurs whatever John had been trying to do for hours is finally working. Arthur knows that whatever John offers now, he’s going to take it. He is going to take him if he still wants.

Silly thought, John always wants him.

This time it’s Arthur who leans forward to kiss John, because that’s the only thing he’s been wanting for so long, ever since the first time they had gotten together and right now, with the same intensity. It’s tender and slow, full of longing unlike John’s kisses which are usually full of lust and demand. He might have not much left to wish and is certainly in no position to make any demands but if there’s one thing left he really wants, it’s this.

All of this. All of John, even if it’s the dumbest thing a dying man could ever wish for. It’s a humble wish in Arthur’s opinion. One way or another, John is going to return to Abigail and the hopefully long life that lays ahead of them. Arthur had spent most of his life with John and still he wants this one moment if it isn’t too much to ask. This one last night with him. In a tent, far away from everyone else.

John lets out a surprised gasp as they part.

“C’mere.” He pleads softly, to which John gladly obeys. They curl up next to the fire. It’s almost like in old times, easier times. They have just aged a lot and experienced many more bad things. To Arthur, John has captured that youthful spark, it’s still there somewhere. Arthur’s on the other hand, is slowly leaving him. He’s never felt so old in his entire life.

But he has also never felt this content and ready to let go either.

“We gotta head back tomorrow, right?” John’s voice is cutting through the comfortable silence like a sharp knife, it carries a certain disappointment. Arthur nods in silent agreement. His arms wrap around John as if he wants to cling on this moment a little longer. He’s gotten stubborn now, stubborn and selfish.

Whatever awaits them is in the future and may now wait.

“Yes, I think we have to. Shouldn’t be leavin’ the others alone with Micah and Dutch. But let’s…not think about that now. There’s somethin’ else I wanna do with you first.” They had a few hours left, he’d better take them to good use.

The best way he can probably muster: Arthur lets his hand slip into John’s half opened shirt, running his finger over the width of his chest. John turns around, catches the dirty grin on Arthur’s face and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Arthur Morgan, you perverted fool. Leavin’ me hangin’ for hours only to get back at me now?”

“You’re too demanding John Marston - can’t help it.” As if to underline what he had just said, Arthur presses him straight to the ground into the moist grass beneath them, all while the fire crackles on and evening starts to fall around them. John smells like earth and grass and tabacco and it's perfect. Arthur takes his time to open up the rest of his shirt, explore his body and all its details. It makes John bite his lip in eager anticipation and usual impatience.

Arthur stops and observes him lovingly, recalls how many times he has actually wondered about the same damn thing. He could never get enough of him, ever. It’s been like that for a whole decade now, so long Arthur doesn’t remember why he declined it for himself in the first place. It had always been John. It had been Mary for a while, maybe Eliza…but it always came back to John. That greasy fool had somehow succeeded to find a way straight into Arthur’s heart. And he is destined to stay there forever.

“I love you.” he whispers, his mouth so close to John’s ear, Arthur can feel him shudder. Arthur only wants John to hear it, no one else. This time John purely responds with the look he is giving Arthur. His eyes are full of love.

But John wouldn’t be John if he would keep his big mouth shut for a change. He has to break the silence.

“Took you long enough to-“

He doesn’t succeed to end his sentence though as Arthur crashes their lips back together and goes down on him, like it’s truly and honestly the last time.

And this time, it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for all the kudos left on this lenghty bastard <3 hope you liked Arthur's POV.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years have passed. John now leads a relatively peaceful life with Abigail and Jack and learns, mourning Arthur can be tough, even after all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You could also call it John-coming-clean-with-himself-and-everyone-else. I always wanted to have some more insight on why John never mentions Arthur. Well, there you go, that's my turn on the whole thing. I also altered the timeline a little to my liking - means it's not totally accurate to the ingame timeline, hope you excuse. There's a lot of conversation going on in this one, I apologize. And if you haven't noticed: I love Sadie. *hides* 
> 
> In case this isn't clear: this contains SPOILERS.

_Beecher’s Hope_

 

_-1907 -_

 

_(John's POV)_

 

A ranch of this impressive size doesn’t magically manage itself.

John has quite a lot of stuff on his daily agenda. There’s a whole lot to do on a whole day and he gets a little help from Jack and Uncle (more from Jack than Uncle of course) but John still does the mammoth part of maintenance work. He would get up at sun rise and fall into bed at sun dawn, completely spent, with his back, arms and legs hurting. It’s a good kind of spent but it’s also very tiring sometimes.

It’s quite a task but they earn enough money with selling their goods to live properly. And that’s what actually makes the major difference: they’re alive and not running. They have been in the same place for quite some time and there is no reason to move. And apart from a few rustlers he had to chase off of his land multiple times, there wasn’t much particular life threatening going on. John Marston had been a thrill seeker for as long as he can remember and a life apart from killing and robbing and taking whatever he wants wasn’t an option for him. John had always been the one to take property, not necessarily keep it.

Perhaps that’s the way things turn out sometimes. He is on the other side of the table now. And he’s not eternally sure if all of this is what he had in mind when he thought about change and becoming a better man, but it pays the bills, it provides his family’s life, and for that, John is utterly grateful.

Of course John had his problems to settle with this kind of life that was so different to the one he had lead before. He had never been much of a rancher, couldn’t even tell the difference between a fruit and a vegetable so to speak, but his ambition and the people he was doing it for, challenged him to try and be the very best one man could archive to be. So he built fences, a barn, a stable and never looked back. And somehow along the day, he must’ve done a lot more right than he had done wrong.

He lets his gaze rest on the house they live in for a moment. It gives him a certain amount of pride to know that this place was built with his own two hands – with a little bit of Charles and Uncle’s help though. This is actually his; he has a bed, a proper bath, a kitchen, a livingroom. Things he only dreamt of when they still rode with Dutch’s gang.  It’s the first thing in John’s life he has actually finished; he has managed to not fuck up.

On that part Arthur had been right: one man can change if he really wants to.

John has also aged visibly. His hair has gotten longer and now almost reaches his shoulders; he is now sporting medium stubble. He had also lost a good amount of his lankiness and gotten a little broader – working all day long and having two proper meals a day did that to your body.

Abigail had begged him to go see the barber in town and finally get a decent haircut. Get rid of that wild, greasy hair – but John was not ready to abandon that part of his past yet. He thinks it suits him just fine.

There’s not a single breeze blowing today, the leafs of all tree’s show a healthy green and parts of the grass underneath his feet look brown and burnt. Summer can be intensively hot and humid in West Elizabeth, but the autumns and winters could be also very unforgiving temperature wise. Although at this height it never snows.

John lets out a huff when he heaves the last hay stack around the stable to feed the animals. There’s a fine sheen of sweat running down the side of his face when he finally finishes.

The past is still with him at some point. Sometimes John Marston acts out and falls back into old habits. Like last week, when he had an intense argument with Abigail about something completely stupid, stormed out of the house and started shooting bottles for no reason at all. It’s been a while since he took a gun to his hand, he mostly kept his revolver in safe distance stashed away in a box right under their bed. He had not fired a gun for just as long and the familiar feeling it gives him made his anger vanish in no time. He had gotten more and more self-confident, aimed and shot all of the bottles with ease.

_Some things you obviously can’t forget_ , he had mused to himself. He always had a natural given talent if it came to his gun skills – Dutch had told him that early on. It made up for the many things he wasn’t as talented with.

However,  Shooting is something he’s not allowed to do anymore, at least not around the farm and god forbid, not in a ten mile radius around the house. It earned him another lecture from Abigail as she had overheard his task, yelled that this way he’s either going to shoot himself, Jack or Rufus and there’s no room, no time, no good reason for him to fall back into old habits.

Somehow that stung and he got winded up for reasons he couldn’t explain. _“I’m shootin’ bottles, Abigail.  Lots of folks do that for fun, y’know. Never turned a man into an outlaw, don’t be dumb with me.”_

John is still very much of an ill-tempered fool if you press the right buttons. It can still be coaxed out of him because that part of his personality never really left him. His voice had been dripping with arrogance and childish hurt as he announced loudly, he could blindly shoot the bottles and still not miss a single one because he is John Marston, and if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s shooting.

“ _You better don’t forget that, woman.”_

He had soon spotted Jack watching him and bellowed a command to give him a cloth and blindfold him. Jack had given him a look of utter disbelief and asked, if that’s really a good idea _. “Of course, it’s a good idea, it’s gonna work out just fine, boy.”_

And he yanked the cloth out of Jack’s hands and does it himself because the boy is too easily frightened for his own damn good.

In his age, John had already learned how to properly handle a gun and John thinks it’s a lesson every boy in his age should learn – mostly for self-defense of course. Abigail thinks otherwise. And since Jack still can’t handle a gun, it’s obvious who had won that argument.

One day he is going to teach him anyway. Secretly of course, far away from Abigail’s motherly care and constant worrying.

John held the gun upright and exhaled deeply, fixating an imaginary point in the distance. Just as he had learned it ages ago. He is well aware of his surroundings - at least that’s what he believed in. He had always been a talented gunslinger, easily one of the best in the gang, and he will be remembered at such. No one is going to remember Jim Milton, the cow milking, horse shit cleaning, hay stack piling rancher.

Perhaps the only reason to prove his goddamn point had been to prove it to himself alone that he still had it inside him, that his alter ego was not fading into oblivion – that he could always go back and review the past if he wanted to. Folks are strange like that sometimes. They find peace in the things they are comfortable with, and sometimes, they even refuse to see what’s right in front of them. Change is scary, change is risky – and you can’t tell beforehand if it will be for the best or for the worst.  They had all tried to stay in the past. Dutch, Hosea and Arthur.

Also John for the longest time.

This day he would also learn, that the two personalities, Jim and John, weren‘t so much apart from each other.

It’s not his shooting abilities or the fact it had been too long since he held a gun – this day it’s just bad luck. Something made him flinch the second he had tried to aim, so he missed the bottle and the bullet had gone straight through the chicken coop. Frantically, no chicken were harmed, just a little spooked. The only thing harmed was John’s pride and maybe that had been the real tragedy.

Failure is something John can’t take that easily, even if he should have been used to it by now. Life itself is an ever evolving process of mistakes being made and learning from them. And it’s frustrating to realize, life will go on, although John might not remain the toughest gunslinger in the west.

He had quickly discarded the blindfold and kicked a steel bucket around, with Jack burying his nose deeply into one of his books while his own father wrestles with his hurt ego.

It took him a whole hour of sulking until he cooled down enough to face Abigail. So when he thought he was back to being reasonable, he steps into his house that evening. Head hanging in shame, like a dog that had gotten a beating. Abigail is eager to slap her hand across his face, asking him why he keeps being that way.

The truth is, John doesn’t even know.

He wonders if he could ever shake that part of him eternally. Perhaps, some parts of him are still as immature as ever – maybe he’s just a child stuck in a grown man’s body.

And while he watches Abigail sitting in front of the fireplace, knitting away silently and pretending he isn’t there, he reminds himself that most women survive their men – and he might know the reasons by now.

The chickens don’t lay eggs for a week and John has to sleep in the stable. Since his arrogance didn’t pay off all too well he resides going back to being a simple rancher, as it spares him a lot of trouble.

Apart from John’s outburst and the following night in the stable, things have been pretty peaceful, almost perfect to be honest. They’re getting along and their relationship had been evolving as well.

John believes that love can sometimes grow over a certain amount of time. It’s like a delicate flower that needs constant caring to process into something beautiful. And there’s hope he’s finally grown to love Abigail the way she deserves it.  It’s still a little irritating to John but he tries very hard nowadays to please her, make it feel right even for himself. He still feels like he owes her a lot more than that. It’s the least he can do to make up for the years of betrayal and arguments he had put her through.

Mourning had been tough. He had mourned Arthur for a very long time and some days he still remembers him and it hurts just as much as on the first day, like a wound that can’t heal properly for the sake of time being. No one had told him it would be that hard to let go and move on and he found it almost impossible to do so.

Some days he had felt too weak to withstand the pain it brought. Abigail had been surprisingly soft and helpful when he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think – she didn’t say much but she was always there somehow, strange as it was. Not even his awfully bad mood had managed to scare her off but instead motivated her to try even harder. She was never pushing him to explain what he was feeling or why he was feeling a certain way.

She held his hand without commentary when he woke up in the middle of the night, she made him food even when he wasn’t hungry. She listened when he wanted to talk – albeit all of the talking he had done revolved around Arthur at some point. Yet, she had never inquired if there was a reason he kept mentioning him all the time, why his voice was carrying that loving undertone when he recalled their time spent together. He had never spoken about Abigail that way or that he at least couldn’t remember. It probably hurt her, more than she was ready to give away. He interpreted that much out of her gesture sometimes, the way her smile faded when he rejected her shy affections. It wasn’t fair, it never had been – to neither of them. Beside all of their differences, they were kind of stuck with each other and that strangely helped to rebuild their trust to one another.

For the first time in ages, John had truly learnt to enjoy her company. It made him hopeful for the next years to come, that his love to Abigail was now lying equal to the love he still held for Arthur. It was new and mildly confusing but he figured, many things in life are confusing at first before they become normal.

One day, he had just stopped talking about Arthur all together, as if someone had just cut that part of him off finally. John figured, the more he talked about Arthur, the longer it hurt – so he just swallowed all feelings and kept himself stitched up like the older man used to do – a personality trait John had absolutely despised and ironically adopted over time. Whenever Abigail tried he would shut her down immediately. He didn’t accept his name to be mentioned around the house anymore as it just took up too much space in his heart to endure it any longer. Abigail might have thought it was part of the healing process so she didn’t ask further and let him be.

The years spent around Beecher’s Hope had also been filled with understanding. Things he had not seen at the first look are now so very clear to him. John understood there is someone caring enough for him to never leave his side, apart from Arthur who didn’t have much of a choice. Abigail had a choice and she had decided on staying with him.

Perhaps this is what makes the difference. And maybe love is so much more than just longing and your heart burning with desire. Love is also about commitment, stability, and trust. Abigail is all of that and more. She had offered familiarity he had lacked for half of his life.

There’s a ring stashed away in a chest in their bedroom. Abigail doesn’t know he has it. John has found it a few days ago, hidden in a small pouch in the satchel Arthur gave to him on that mountain; the last time they had seen each other. It’s entirely the meaning it holds. It’s Mary’s ring that Arthur gave to her, as a form of commitment.

John wants to commit properly to Abigail, he wants her to carry his last name, with a ring on her finger to proof it – like normal folks, not some bunch of deranged outlaws that just got married on the road. He had not thought that something so simple would grow so important to him one day.

It’s way too small to put around his own finger, it’s clearly been made to fit the form and shape of a woman’s physique. John would be a shameless liar if he’d say he didn’t try to put it on, secretly of course and away from curious looks. One thing that is always present in John’s mind and heart, a thing he can’t forget about, is the many possible scenarios he could have experienced with Arthur.

There had been many opportunities to run away together. Of course it would have never worked out but it was a nice dream John caught himself clinging to for longer than it was healthy for him. Until Arthur’s very last day, he had hoped that there would be a different outcome to what awaited them. That the path they had walked on would suprisingly reveal two ways instead of just one.

Realization had settled on him the moment Arthur persisted so stubbornly to stay behind, just so he could get out safely. Go to his family while the best thing about John’s life would become a faint memory of the past.

Arthur had not just given his heart to John; he had also given his life to him.

 

_“We ain’t got time for this, not now.”_

_“We ain’t both gonna make it.”_

 

In a different scenario, that John is absolutely sure about, they would have made it work somehow. And eventually they could have become a normal couple – as normal as two men living with each other could have been.

Arthur had never been too overwhelmed with the prospect of living somewhere in peace, and on top of all with John. He would make fun about it to hide his real thoughts as usual.

 

_“And then? What you want us to do, John? You want me to chop vegetables all day? Ain’t gonna happen.”_

 

Mostly because he had lacked the imagination, to picture them in a completely different life than the one they’ve been comfortable with. He never meant it in a bad way, Arthur never meant anything in a bad way – he had a soft spot, a wildly stubborn heart maybe but it was pure and good as can be. He has just been a little held back because he had not experienced so far that love could mean happiness instead of suffering, that two people could stay together and not fall apart to difficult circumstances. John knows, with his unbreakable stamina and some well-meant encouragement, he could have convinced Arthur and he would have grown to love it.

Some days he can easily picture him sitting on the front porch of the house, sipping from well-aged Bourbon, a goofy but yet satisfied smile on his lips. He would have been a good at this life, even better than John. Of course, he would have mocked him about it all day long – and John would have loved every second of it.

This place here, Arthur would have surely liked it, John is pretty certain about that. It’s quiet and peaceful and it’s a lot like the older man used to be – calm and dependable. It reminds John of him in a strange way he can’t explain. Might be the fact, that he wouldn’t be here without Arthur – that all of this is built upon the hope and the chances he gave them.

John is quite relieved no one can see his pondering and thinking. He would feel way too embarrassed. He’s not sure if a man is allowed to marry or live with another man, if he’s even allowed to bear such thoughts in his mind.

Arthur seems to be always on his mind somehow. He thinks kindly of every memory they’ve made together, the way his voice sounded, his smell, his appearance, his laugh. There are way too many things for John to point out a certain one he misses the most. It’s the lack of his warmth at night, his protective nature – sometimes his mocking as well. It sets a longing in John’s heart and although he never speaks about him, not even mentions his name around loved ones, he’s always right there with John.

Abigail and him don’t talk much about old times, although some people still play a big role in each of their lifes – there’s lazy, completely useless Uncle, there’s Charles, always offering a helping hand. And there’s Sadie that popped out of nowhere a few weeks ago.

Especially Abigail has been very fond of Sadie returning to their side, she instantly offers her a bed to sleep in and a warm meal, if she ever needed one. It’s no big deal, she promises. “We have plenty of room you can stay in!” but Sadie is a lone wolf – always has been. The only one she has endured enough to ride with her frequently had been Arthur, no one else. She friendly declines and continues to swing by. John understands Sadie in a way he can’t explain. When he asks her, to settle down, build a house on his land, she says she already had that and it got taken away from her. She sounds sad while saying it but she’s too brave to let him see right through her.

Abigail is however, not so fond of John riding out with her one day, chasing after bounties. She is also not fond of John asking too many questions about the old gang. About Dutch, Micah, Javier and Bill and what’s left of them. _“_

_"Leave it in the past already, will ya?”_

It has been fun riding out with Sadie and a welcoming change to his strict daily routine on the farm. She is good company by all means and they do catch a lot of bad folks while riding together – they make quite a good team. She gives him praise for his shooting abilities, admits that it had been one of the many reasons she kind of wanted him to join her, although she never wants anyone to join her, period. John can feel a certain pride glowing in his heart. He might not be much of an Outlaw anymore but the things he learned from Dutch, Hosea and Arthur were still present. And John is – good reasoning and Abigail’s worries aside – still very fond of all his talents.

While talking to her more than he has ever done in the past, John is getting a whole new perspective on what brave kind of woman she is. She tells him all about the last mission she went on with Arthur; about that time she becomes her long awaited revenge. She kills at least 10 O’Driscolls, but is not bringing her the peace she was hoping for.

She admits, she still misses her Jake and it would have made her a different person, if he would still be alive. John swallows as he listens, then admits he knows the feeling. He too, misses someone terribly.

It came more out of affect to be honest. John had not really thought about the words falling from his mouth just as they were out.

That’s when John learns, Sadie is not easy to be fooled. She has a sharp mind and wicked guess. Something about John’s undertone doesn’t sit right with her.

“You’re talkin’ ‘bout Arthur right?” it’s a plain question and it comes out of nowhere as they ride along the path up to Tall Tree’s for yet another bounty, rumored to be hiding away in a cottage in the middle of the woods. John is not prepared; he nearly falls off his sturdy mare Rachel. He slows her down and stops in the middle of the road.

What is he supposed to answer now?

Sadie mimics his actions and slows her horse too - one big and mean beast, compared to Rachel. It’s definitly one hell of a horse, not quite fitting for such a delicate Lady some would say.

To be fair, Sadie Adler was as far from being delicate than John could imagine. She had proofed that with ease in the past. In fact, she was a little bit of a bloodthirsty maniac sometimes, claiming she had scared any man off that tried to get closer to her. It was as much of a blessing as it was a burden.

There’s panic in John’s eyes when she mentions his name. He nervously slides around in his saddle, tries to hide his evidence which is plastered all over his face. It deeply unsettles him and he senses, Sadie is trying to coax the answer out of him, whatever the cost may be.

“I’m-…I…y’know-” he stammers as if he suddenly has lost his ability to talk properly. There’s a smile playing around Sadie’s lips. He’s not used to someone openly ask him about Arthur and he least expected Sadie to do so. Hell, what if they knew all along?

He wonders how much Arthur had told her. They obviously had spent a lot of time together. She must knew something, she wouldn’t be asking so directly otherwise.

“Easy Cowboy, you’re blushin’ under that hat of yours?” Sadie mocks and indeed, John is blushing quite a deep shade of red, much to his personal discomfort. He feels caught.

“No I’m not! I’m fine…it’s just…goddamnit Sadie! It’s complicated, okay?” he lacks the words. Complicated does fit it pretty well - he’s not sure if there’s any other word for it. It’s never been easy with Arthur. Just thinking about the last hours he has spent with him, makes John’s heart go heavy with longing.

He misses him. So much.

“You’re tellin’ me then. I’m all ears.” she offers eagerly.

“It’s a long story, Mrs. Adler. Way too long.” John sighs, accepting defeat as it approaches him. He’s such a bad liar and he can’t talk shit with Sadie – she had caught him more or less red handed. She acts like she knows a thing or two. Maybe more than she’s ready to reveal yet. It’s obvious she wants to hear his part of the story and John trusts her, he can’t see why he shouldn’t. She’s been very important to Arthur, that much is obvious, and she is also very important to Abigail. That makes two people in his life that share a high opinion on Sadie Adler.

_Must be a reason to it_ , John thinks.

It’s just that he never talks about Arthur to anyone, how dear he is to him, to this day and forever. It just feels wrong to reveal such pure memories to anyone. John has this silly fear that if he tells anyone, the memories are going to leave him forever – and that’s the only thing he got left of Arthur. He is also not so taken with the prospect of spilling his heart out on the floor in front of her, not that it would make much of a difference but he is just not the person for that. He hates talking about his feelings as much as simply feeling them.

“I’ve got time Marston. Well not so much now, as we speak. We shoulda probably catch this son of a bitch first and then…we talk. I kind of want that money that’s on his head, way too good opportunity to let it slip and let someone else have all the fun. Y’know, that’s how I work.” There’s relief washing over John, that he’s getting out of this situation, at least for now. He nods in agreement, spurs on his hoarse and they fall into a steady pace as they ride up into the woods of Tall Trees. He couldn’t agree more – now that it’s offered, he does want that bounty as well. Not so much for the money part but the fun part it holds.

“Alright, let’s keep on movin’ then.”

 

\---

 

It has gotten late when they finally return home. They hitch up the horses and call it a successful day and Sadie puts a money clip in his hand - his share. John grins knowingly and puts it in his back pocket quickly. He’s not going to tell anyone that he kind of missed that. On top of that, Sadie makes an excellent partner. They work surprisingly well together. So well, it still has Sadie repeating that she’s not going to hire him forever, she prefers riding alone. John understands.

He had promised to Abigail a thousand times to leave that part of his past behind and kind of pains him but he is going to stick to that promise. One way or another, he is going be back at just being a regular rancher. In fact his new found career as bounty hunter stops as soon as they approach Beecher’s Hope. It’s were Jim Milton and John Marston part ways, only to continue the fight inside him at a later time.

It conflicts John heavily but he is not the one to show it to the world how torn apart he really feels, even after all these years and although he is getting better at being good.

There’s no way hiding the obvious though: John knows the time spend together is as precious to Sadie as it is to him. And as much as she adores Abigail, she isn’t exactly as domesticated as her. He wonders if it’s always been that way or if the time spend in the gang made her what she had turned into now. Not that it was much of a negative thing, John only held the highest respect for Sadie – he still caught himself pondering if she would ever choose a different life if given the chance.

The minute they step onto the front porch of John’s home, Abigail is already out and about, eyes them rather suspiciously. John is quick to give her a reassuring nod but she openly voices her concerns anyway.

“You two have been behaving yourself?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest. It's not a fun question, she really means it judging by the way she eyes him from head to toe for any evidence hidden. John gives her a wink and Sadie taps her had innocently.

“Sure darlin’. No killin’, no robbin’. As promised.” The cold, stern look on Abigails face immediately softens and she looks rather relieved. John is not telling her all the details about their hunt today. He knows what she thinks of that. Actually today it had gone relatively smooth compared to other days - their target had been dead already when they arrived, leaving them with not much work left to do as to catch the other guy that was still alive and had been hiding inside the cottage, scared shitless – the other man had been less lucky: half eaten by a Bear, his corpse terribly disfigured. They couldn’t even tell if it was really him, seeing as there wasn’t much left of him. It wasn’t a nice image, rather disturbing and it surely made no good dinner time story.

Only seconds after examining the body, that same Bear had his encounter with John, leaving him magically with nothing but a few scratches and in shock – Sadie had been joking the whole ride, that he just seemed to have it with wild animals. It’s always him who gets attacked and still he stays relatively unharmed every time.

That’s bad luck as it seems but John is welcoming it anyway – he doesn’t want any more scars adding to the ones he got from that Wolf years ago.

Would have also ended quite bad for him if Sadie wouldn’t scared the bear of by putting a few bullets in his pelt.

“Good. You come in then and have dinner?” John realizes that he isn’t hungry, although he definitely should be by now. It’s probably his talk with Sadie that still has his intestines tied up in a knot.

“We will, Abigail. Gotta talk with John first.” Sadie chimes in, giving him a nudge to the side to remind him about the promise made earlier. As with Sadie, Abigail seems to trust her blindly. It’s kind of endearing if you compare it to John, who’s almost every time getting a lecture from her, even if there’s no reason to be mad with him. He can’t really put her to blame – he had done enough shit in the past to build himself such a questioning reputation and it had done quite some damage to her trust as well. The prospect of another night in the stable doesn’t sound all to alluring to John, so he keeps his bragging to himself.

His wife is not an Idiot. She looks back and forth between them for a while, furrowing her brows in a questioning, yet wondrous gaze. She seems to ponder if she is buying that excuse or not.

“Alright. You get lost then, just don’t be late!” she hushes back inside and leaves them be. John lets out the breath he’s been holding and exhales loudly.

“Jesus, that woman. I swear she’s gonna be the death of me someday. Always with the nagging questions.”

“Don’t be like that John. You would be too if you was in her position.” Sadie adds.

They sit down at a wooden bench placed outside the porch. That’s usually Uncle’s spot when he is being as lazy as always, only pretending to be working hard. He is in fact completely useless and remains as such but as all things on Beecher’s Hope, he kind of has earned his place here, even if it’s just for annoying the living shit out of them most days. Their sense of familiarity wasn’t all too traditional anyway to begin with. When they still rode with Dutch, everyone counted as Jack’s uncle or aunt – and they all took the job more seriously than John had for the first years. Uncle had done surprisingly well with his role and Jack liked him enough, to laugh about his stupid stories and even agreed to be dragged out fishing. Things his father should probably do with him instead.

Today he can just be heard arguing with Abigail inside the house. They listen to the stupid back and forth discussion for a while, smile to themselves as it brings back so many pleasant memories, just like in good old times.

“Remind me to dig a grave and finally bury that sorry piece of shit somewhere.” John states to which Sadie just replies with a knowing chuckle.

“He’s never been any different.”

Evening engulfs them, there’s just one oil lamp casting a small shadow on the ground and the lights coming through the windows from inside the house. The sky above them is drenched in red and orange, and there’s a tree softly rustling in the breeze. Summer evenings have always been his favorite, he would sit outside for hours and just watch the sky above for the first stars and the moon appearing, all while the camp fire crackled on. Some days he had even prefered to sleep outside, leave the tent all to Abigail and Jack.

It's gonna be a complicated conversation. John has brought out a bottle of whiskey to help loosen his tongue. He wonders if he’s casting a shadow that’s bigger than his body really is or more so, the man contained in said body.

He’s ready to drift off and let his thoughts wander once more but Sadie is keeping him right here, giving him a rather invitingly look. Her brown eyes observe him carefully. Of course, he owes her an explanation. John Marston has been many things but he had never been a spineless loudmouth.

He doesn't want to but he's going to talk.

“So?”

“Alright. What do you wanna know?” John nervously fingers around the whiskey bottle he had brought outside with them. He pours a glass for him and Sadie. He hasn’t been drinking a single drop in a while but he might need it tonight. John Marston is not really prepared for this kind of talk they are going to have. He would rather get shot at right now – would be less scary. Or maybe even get attacked by a Bear in the god forsaken woods of Tall Tree’s.

“Y’know I had quite of my own theory, ‘bout you and Arthur. I never said anythin’ cause it didn’t seem quite right to me. I never really understood I guess – since you’re with Abigail and-…I’m not gonna make you feel guilty ‘bout it John, that’s not what I’m here for.” She stops for a moment, pondering about what to say next. She’s chooses her words wisely, John can tell. She’s fair and neutral; although John had been sure she would instantly take Abigail’s side and give him a lection about what kind of nasty pig he is for doing stuff behind her back. It’s exactly what he had been doing for years – there’s nothing to whitewash for that.

Her reaction surprises him but he doesn’t interrupt her for a second.

“I know how Arthur was. I’ve spend some time with him, especially when he got sick and everyone seemed to turn on him for speakin’ the truth. And I realized he would never shut up about you. You were always on his mind John, one way or ‘nother. He'd asked me to make sure you, Jack and Abigail make it out safely once it ends. That was the only damn thing on his mind. 'Make sure, John makes it, that's all I'm askin for'...all the damn time.” The is a warmth returning to John’s heart he missed for quite some time.

It shouldn’t make him feel this way, he knows better than that. He’s a different man now but the impact Arthur has on him after all his years remains stubbornly.

“He’s been on my mind constantly as well. Since we was kids. It was innocent first, just like two brothers y’know. Arthur was family. Didn’t like each other much at first, Arthur was quite jealous for some time. Dutch was…he had a really high opinion of me, I guess. I was described to be his favorite-“

“The golden boy.” Sadie concludes cleverly, holding up her glass for emphasis. John chuckles and takes a sip from his whiskey as well and nods.

“Dutch and Hosea wanted me and Arthur to get along with each other so they made sure we always ended up doing jobs together. Small jobs at first, but they had gotten better over time. And then…I dunno but we really made it work, y’know? We just worked together, we found out. And one day-…I took interest in Arthur, I dunno why – more than I should have, more than was healthy for the both of us. It felt strange, more so when he responded to it. We let it happen, we sneaked out at night plenty of times to be….together. And life was pretty good until things changed and it all went to hell.”

Sadie inhales sharply, faces her dirt stained boots and the glass with the brown, golden liquid in her hand.

“So the two of you never really talked ‘bout it?”

“Not really. Arthur was always scared someone could find out. And I was just-…so stupid at some point. Didn’t talk for a month straight, both of us had their own things and their own jobs goin’…Arthur rode out with Charles and Javier a lot, I was left with Bill and Micah mostly – seemed fine.  But then, Arthur had brought Mary to Camp – and I got involved with Abigail. And that’s ‘bout it. Didn’t get better when I left for a whole year. Arthur had said…” he sighs audibly as the memories repeat in his mind like they had just happened yesterday. Fresh and vibrant. Some he wishes, he could erase forever as they overshadow the many good times he had with the older man.

“He’d said we were done, we were not meant to be together at all. I made a choice, he made his. And sometimes I wonder if it would have changed things if I wouldn’t have run off like an Idiot. But it was too much for one man, y’know? Too much to handle. With Abigail and Jack. Arthur loved them both, don’t get that wrong. And that’s why he wanted things to end, wanted us to end.”

“Good Arthur. Always too damn humble. Always puttin’ his own needs way behind others. Shoulda seen his face when Dutch told him you didn’t make it while robbin’ that train. Like his world came crashing down.” Sadie had obviously made a few good observations. It made a lot of sense now and despite the fact that he should mostly feel guilt, he couldn’t bring himself to feel any of it. It kind of felt good to be talking about it so openly after such a long time.

“’s that so?” Arthur had never been someone to lay out his true feelings for everyone to see. Over time and with his sickness progressing, he had gotten a tad softer but it had overly not changed much , his affections to John were only shown during certain occasions. Some kind of damage ran too deep to fix it John figured. And Arthur had always been a very damaged and complicated man.

“'course! You see, I talked to him. Said it wasn’t right to leave you behind like this, y’know…without much explainin’. That’s not how you treat someone you love. He agreed, said he wanted me to hand you this once time is right.” Sadie pulls an all too familiar book out of the depths of her Satchel. It doesn’t need much but the blink of an eye to recognize the familiar brown, heavily used leather covering it.

It’s Arthur’s Journal. John can feel his pulse in his ears. He takes it, examines the rough surface, beaten by years of use. He has no idea for how long Sadie has carried it around with her – must’ve been quite some time now.

“Jesus, Sadie. I thought Arthur burnt it or somethin’! That’s what he told me at least.” John is obviously in a loss of words. It all makes sense now that John never found it in the satchel Arthur had given him.

How utterly dumb had he been to believe, that this sour bastard would have burnt his most precious belonging even if he had no use for it anymore.

“When?” he just asks completely baffled. She gives him a warm smile.

“Right after I’ve seen him for the last time. He said, if he wanted to make sure it gets delivered to you, he would have asked no one else but me.” This confession sets a pain in John’s heart that shouldn’t be there. He feels like an idiot for his upflaring jealousy.

“Have you read it?” John is not aware of his blunt and rude questioning. She responds with a rather surprised expression on her face, yet she remains completely unaffected by John’s boldness.

“Not a single word, no. Hey, just ‘cause I read Pearson’s letters for fun doesn’t mean I sneak around private property all the time. Pearson had been an Idiot to me almost the entire time, that fat sludge had it comin’! I would never betray Arthur like this. Arthur has been nothin’ but sweet towards me from the beginning. And that’s why I ride alone, y’know. Made a promise to myself: I would never ever ride with someone, again. ‘cause there’s not many people comin’ even close to Arthur.” she pauses as she catches him looking confused and unnerved. She laughs softly and quickly adds something to eliminate his doubts.

"John, things weren't like that. Between me and Arthur I mean...there wasn't anything serious. We weren't in love. He was-...a friend, a very good friend. My heart belongs to my husband, like yours belongs to Arthur. Just...don't let it ruin everythin' you have, that's all I'm sayin'."

John can't even look her in the eye. He feels absolutley ashamed for letting his thoughts even go that direction that she had to defend herself.

"Am I being that obvious?" he asks weakly.

"Yep, written all over your sorry face. I feel kind of flattered you thought of me as bein' serious competition, had my guess on Mary-Beth or Tilly. They were all pretty taken with Arthur!" she jokes to light up the mood, ease some of the embarrassment she sowed. John just growls an apology, not wanting to hear any more of it.

It sounds familiar for him. So awfully familiar that he feels bad for being jealous, if only for a few seconds and thinking, he would be the only one affected by Arthur’s death. There are a lot of people missing him, because he was nothing short but a great man. Sadie couldn’t have said it better. Not many people can compare to the greatness and gentleness of Arthur Morgan. He was truly a good man, even if he wasn’t all too self-confident about that himself.

 

_“I’m not good John.”_

_“You’re half as bad as me and not as bad as Micah, makes you quite good in my book.”_

_“I guess competition isn’t all too fierce.”_

 

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Sadie. Really.” His hands stroke softly over the rough surface, like he can’t even believe his luck. Years over years he had tried to talk the older one into letting him read at least one page of it and yet Arthur had always declined it forcefully.

_“Just ‘cause I’m lettin’ you in my bedroll each night doesn’t mean I’m gonna share my thoughts with ya as well. Leave a man some goddamn privacy, Marston.” e_ ventually that had prevented John from asking but it had not killed his curiosity.

“Ah you might wait with the praise until you’ve read the first page he wrote ‘bout you.” Sadie starts to laugh heartily as she watches his eyes going wide with shock.

“I’m just playin’ ‘round Johnny Boy. I have no idea what’s written in there. You knew Arthur way better than me. That journal was precious to him.”

“Threatened to cut my balls off if I ever dared to take a glimpse.”

“Now you can. It’s all in there. The last thing left of Arthur Morgan.” her voice breaks in a strange way. Only lit by the orange and red dim lights provided by evening approaching, he can sense Sadie tilting her hat deeper into her face as if she’s trying to hide. And then there’s a soft sniffle coming from her direction that pulls at John’s heartstrings.

“I miss him, John. He was like my Jake, a good man. Didn’t deserve to die like this. No one should.” John is not good at comforting people but he leans over and puts a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. She allows him to do so, even leans in a little closer and John notices that apart from the day they saved her from the O’Driscolls and many weeks to follow when she was grieving her husband, he has never really seen Sadie shed a tear. She had just stopped crying after a while. It’s because she is so strong and brave, you tend to forget she has a softer side to her. She is broken inside like the rest of them and who could really blame her?

John remains silent for an awfully long time, downs the rest of his drink to leave a bitter burning in his throat and heart that doesn’t come from the whiskey alone. A confession he has never made to anyone so far slips from his lips.

“I miss him too, Sadie. Every day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to update this. I admit it, I had a slight writers block and couldn't get in the right mood for this and apart from that didn't have much time as well. I'm not sure how I like this chapter, I hope it isn't as bad as I think and that you enjoy reading it. This story will have 5 chapters, so we're close to shore now, ladies and gentleman. Once again: if you've continued reading this one, left comments/kudos, bookmarked it etc: THANK YOU SO MUCH! <3 it really means a lot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John still tries to get over his loss and the problems attached to it. He also makes a long postponed visit to find his peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it's been a while. I hope everyone's still interested into how this might end? If you do, please go ahead. Kudos/Comments are - as always - very welcome! no matter if good or bad. Oh and in case this isn't clear: this story contains spoilers. So if you haven't finished the game...you better leave now ;)

_Beecher’s Hope_

 

_-1907 -_

 

_(John's POV)_

 

Along with his daily duties around Beecher’s Hope, John now spends a lot of time reading. Not in the traditional sense by reading a book of someone completely unknown to him, he is reading Arthur’s thoughts. It’s like a time travel to the past, to good times, easier times. And since it’s the only thing left of Arthur, it’s special to John to see his wild handwriting, look at his drawings and notes and interpretations. This is how Arthur had seen the world. And if he pretends hard enough, it’s almost like he’s there with him. It’s a strange kind of comfort he gets by reading through all of Arthur’s thoughts. It might even be enough to heal the wounds on his heart that not even time had healed so far.

John’s newfound literal interest first causes a lot of mocking and wondering from Abigail and unneeded curiosity from Jack. When she had first asked, he had told her he was reading one of Dutch’s old books – which made even less sense, since John had been pretty persistent of mentioning of how boring he thought these books were and that he had never gotten half of them when Dutch and Hosea had read them to him. The words written had always been beyond his understanding.

At some point she had luckily bought his lie and stopped to investigate even further, despite the fact that she still mocked him all the more about it.

“You’re really turnin‘ into an intellectual John Marston. Just don’t let that book give you any funny ideas. If you start talkin’ like Dutch, I’m throwin’ you out.”  she warns him with great concern in her voice while scrubbing their dirty clothes over a washing basin. John isn’t stupid enough to protest – he knows that woman is going to keep her promises. He groans a “’course not, darlin’.” slips past her and completely ignores that Jack had bothered to look up from the book he was reading and was observing him very interestingly for the first time in weeks.

When he’s done with milking the cow, he sits down outside the barn and opens the book. He is in awe with Arthur’s accuracy. Not just the drawings he did are breathtaking; John never knew the older man was this good with words. He had never been a philosopher like Dutch or a great poet like the ones Hosea was so taken with, but his words make John feel like he’s right back in that time. Sadie did not lie – a lot of the things written in there are somehow about John and if it’s not, he’s at least mentioned. Arthur sketched him in many situations. There’s one of him when he’s gotten his first bath, Miss Grimshaw standing right next to him. Arthur did really capture her strict face expression quite well.

_Mrs. Grimshaw has finally given John a bath. It was about time, kind of thought he had become one with the dirt all over his body. That boy is a dirty, greasy fella. A strange one - comes close to someone lacking a few brain cells if you ask me. Dumb as a mule, can’t sit still for a moment. If there’s one thing that’s more unnerving than his stench, it’s his attitude. He’s loud, he’s aggressive and he has the attention span of a rock. Boy is testing my goddamn temper, for sure. With him being part of the gang, I feel like we brought only more trouble onto ourselves. Dutch is completely taken with that boy – he probably sees something in him I can’t. All I see is a sorry fool, not close to being a man._

John smiles. He fully agrees with Arthur now – he had been nothing short but horrible. It makes him wonder how zhe older man had actually started to take a liking to his younger self.

He skips a few pages he has already read and finds a sketch of him laying in the grass, propped up by a log, staring into the sundown. It’s very detailed: from his unruly, mostly uncombed black hair, to his first faint stubble. He had been not older than 18 to that time probably. It was the first time him and Arthur had been riding out together just for fun – not because they had to do jobs together.

John recalls how nervous and excited at the same time he had been, how content it made him to enjoy Arthur’s presence, although he rarely talked much, mostly reduced his responses to a few audible noises or a quick nod. Despite showing the complete opposite of it most times, Arthur treated John with respect.

They had taken a break in between, leaving John to laze around and Arthur to scribble away eagerly in the background. John had been curious, too curious for Arthur’s opinion and he never knew when he overstepped a line. First he had started to throw small rocks and branches at the older one, trying to piss him off enough to leave that journal unguarded for a few minutes. When that clearly didn’t work and only earned him an angry glare and a few threats, he had taken things a step further and tried to catch a glimpse into Arthur’s journal behind his back. Arthur had caught him more or less red handed and thus began the ugliest fight in their early, brotherly relationship.

Got them quite the preaching from Dutch when they returned to camp, Arthur with a split lip and John with a nasty cut all over his eyebrow, both bruised, muddy and embarrassed. “ _You have nothing else to do as to fight each other like a bunch of inbred?”_

They didn’t fight any less from this day on, but there weren’t as much fists involved as before. Mostly because John had been highly intimidated by Arthur’s strength, not that he would ever openly admit that, being the arrogant brat that he had been. He was lucky that cut over his eyebrow was the only thing he had gotten out of that fight.

John’s favourite parts of that journal are not also the little memories he might have forgotten about over the years, he especially likes the parts where him and Arthur had truly gotten together. Or well whatever you would have called it to that time. Technically, they had never been together as in the terms of being a couple.

 More like, started to share a bedroll and run off all by themselves almost daily.

 

_Spend all of the day fishing. Didn’t catch much sadly._

_I had to promise Dutch, that we wouldn’t be going without contributing anything to camp afterwards. I don’t like to lie to Dutch but there are things, I can’t tell him. Things I can’t even explain to myself half of the time and I guess it’s better if he doesn’t know all about us._

_Me and John have started to sleep in the same tent a lot. It had started recently. I don’t even know why. That idiot claimed he had forgotten his and then I offered him that we could share mine…it became a common thing for us to sleep in the same tent, without a reason. It’s strange. Even more that I enjoy it. A lot. If I don’t offer, John comes crawling into my tent anyway at night. He’s a fucking moron._

_I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me, why I keep being nice to him. Being lonely for such a long time maybe…it’s making me do a lot of thinking._

_I don’t know if John is being honest with me. He had a strange look in his eyes the last time I told him he should go and sleep in his own damn tent. John gives me a lot of strange looks nowadays and I’m not sure I can interpret them properly._

_I’m not sure I can interpret the feeling it gives me neither._

_I fear it’s something else. Something about his warmth and closeness at night make me feel more comfortable than I have been in years._

_Hosea said, with some things you just have to grow a few years older to grasp their full meaning. I’m older now and I still don’t get what the hell he had meant with that._

_God, get a grip on yourself Morgan._

 

John resides on the same page for a while and lets his thoughts wander. He misses Hosea. He was always the more fatherly one of the two, with his wisdom, his gentleness and his endless patience. He had formed John, slowly but steadily and before that, he had his impact on Arthur – of the man he had become over years. He had died a way not suitable for a man of his greatness. But so has Arthur.

Time passes fast whenever John is engulfed with Arthur’s journal. He’s so fixated on the words written, careful not to miss anything important, he almost forgets to do the rest of his chores around the ranch and ends up having to do them all at once and faster than usual. There’s no excuse good enough for Abigail if he can’t finish his work around evening and doesn’t show up to dinner – especially since he had promised her for weeks to fix a few loose planks on the roof and do something about those damn crows that eat half of their profits. Jack almost catches him browsing through some especially spicy bits when him and Arthur sneaked out and had their first night together. John had been so in thought, he had not seen him approaching him. He just looked up when Jack cleared his throat to make his presence known.

“Woah Jack! Don’t you scare your old man like that, sneakin’ up on him.” John rambles, clearly overwhelmed. How was it with that boy nowadays, that John did not hear him coming close?

He had really gotten that sloppy over the years or his son made it to a point to follow him around the ranch all the time without him knowing.

“Sorry Sir. But I was not sneakin’ around?” Jack apologizes, eyeing his father with great interest. John gets a little unnerved with his curiosity nowadays – that boy has reached an age where he is asking way too many questions. John preferred him when he was younger and much easier to handle and far away from hitting puberty. It occurred that nowadays it was even harder to connect with him properly and improve their relationship, although they are slowly getting there.

Jack is a clever boy, you can’t really bullshit him – a trait he surely inherited from his mother, on the other hand he is also so damn closed up and daydreaming all the time, neither Abigail or John were like that, they were both rather loud and bold. In fact, John often swears that boy had gotten most of his personality treats from Abigail and not a single one from him. That only added to John’s insecurity that Jack might not even be his.

Luckily, John had quickly stashed the book away from his curious gaze.

“Make yourself useful then and help me out a little, will ya?” John commands. He knows he shouldn’t punish Jack for his own carelessness, it’s not fair. He should definitely be a little more discreet around ranch from now on and see if he can lead Jack’s interest somewhere else.

“Alright, sir.” He answers meekly, looking downwards. John feels sorry all of the sudden.

“Jack, boy. Look I’m sorry okay? It’s just a lot of work to do for one man and you’re old enough now to contribute. When I was your age, I had to earn my keep.” He explains. Jack is giving him a look he had not seen on the boy so far. There’s  a soft spark glistening in his blue eyes.

“It’s okay Dad, I understand. You think I could borrow your book one day? You seem really into it. It must be very catching.” That’s a spot on observation. John knows Jack is probably just happy to pretend, that they have at least one thing in common now, something they can really and truly talk about. For most of his young life, John wasn’t all too eager about Jack’s interest in literature – kind of felt like the boy would grow into a wimp if he kept on reading his fairy tales. He rather wanted him to learn how to handle a gun but that had been out of question with Abigail’s thunderous resistance for as long as he could remember.

It’s not a normal book, by all means. This is Arthur’s journal and it has some very detailed insights on the relationship they had together John is not ready to share with the rest of the world, especially not his family. The prospect of Jack reading it makes John’s embarrassment peak. No need for the boy to invade that part of John’s past. Actually no one should be aware of what had happened between them.

Sadie knows but that’s one person and for John’s personal taste, that’s way enough.

“Jack, look…this book it’s-…you might read it. One day. But you’re not old enough yet.” He stammers out a pretty weak excuse but Jack seems to buy it. For now.

He better makes sure to lock it up somewhere. If there’s just a small spark of John’s annoying persistency inside Jack, he would try his hardest to read the journal without him knowing.

That’s at least what John had tried to do for the last 10 years of riding with Arthur. Eventually he had given up once Arthur had threatened to tie him with his lasso and throw him into the next river, if he ever touched it. Judging by how much John despised water and how it scared him shitless to even think about it, he had finally taken that threat to heart.

He’s not going to give the boy any silly ideas.

“Is it a book from Dutch?” Jack presses on.

Nevermind, maybe he really is his true flesh and blood.

“You go and feed the horses. Now.” John insists sternly. Jack would probably pester him some more about it, but he isn’t a disrespectful brat like his father used to be in his age. He accepts and is obedient to what John tells him – that’s more Abigail’s good parenting to be honest, John had not really participated or contributed much in that part. If he would have, Lord knows that the boy would have grown up to follow his father’s footsteps.

He rolls his eyes at him and shuffles to the stables to do what’s been assigned to him. John can feel his heart racing and the heat of embarrassment creeping all over his face.

Maybe he should ride out somewhere to read from now on.

He also makes a mental note to spend more time with Jack, maybe even offer him to read one of his books to him someday.

Not that he is interested in literature but he figures, if that makes the boy smile a little bit more, it might just be his parental responsibility. John had never really gotten what it meant to be a father – he couldn’t even remember his own, how was he supposed to know. Hosea and Arthur, partly Dutch – they had tried their best to teach him but it had taken him years to settle into his role. For the longest time, John had simply not cared enough if he was being a good influence on his son or not.

It did matter a lot to him now. Once you had a child to look after, everything else just becomes an unimportant side note on the chapter of the book you’re reading.

John believes that’s how time alters and changes things.

And time surely had altered him for something better. At this point, it’s the only thing he can hope for.

 

\----

 

It’s the middle of the night when John wakes up, being covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his blanket somewhere around his ankles. It takes him a few seconds to calm down and realize he has just woken from a nightmare. He falls back into his sheets with a groan, now wide awake as the moon shines through the window, casting creepy shadows all over their bedroom. His heart pounds steadily against his ribcage in time with his fastened breathing.

At some point, he is pretty sure he had spoken out, rather shouted Arthur’s name in desperation. That had happened a lot in the past, when the memories of Arthur’s death had been all fresh and vibrant in his mind, creating that uncomfortable longing and grieving in his heart he couldn’t talk to, neither explain to anyone.

He throws a quick detecting glimpse over to Abigail who is luckily still deep asleep beside him and seems to have not overheard him.

Thank God. That could have gone horribly wrong.

 

_“Arthur I can’t love her like I love you. It’s not gonna work.”_

_“You gonna have to try harder then.”_

 

His mind in general is a mess right now of way too many things standing in conflict. There’s this part inside him that do loves Abigail, not with the same intensity as he had loved Arthur, but he had not expected that at all.

Then there’s the part that is so full of doubts if all of this was really the life he had imagined himself to live. That part of him he had long thought to be buried, the one that begged him to pack up his things and run away again. It was hopeless though, where exactly should he run to?

Is it more like a gift to Arthur that he had promised him he would try?

If that’s the case, He had failed miserably so far.

He can’t go back to sleep anyway, so he decides he might as well take a walk outside and try to sort his thoughts out.

Carefully not to wake Abigail, he leaves the bed, puts his boots on and collects the rest of his clothes scattered around the room.

It is a little chill when he steps out of the door, silently and careful not to wake anyone. Uncle’s loud snoring is muffled but still noticeable when the door falls close behind him. The sky above is clear. The stars shine bright, millions of them, the moon sets a ghostly shimmer on the earth underneath, crickets chirp in nearer distance and an owl makes its presence known.

There had been hoping, he had finally left that bit of his past behind himself but it came back to surface so forcefully now, that John isn’t so sure anymore if this life he leads is more like a punishment to him. The dreams have started to come back to him quite recently.

Such a goddamn mess this is.

He can’t touch his own wife without thinking about Arthur, but he can’t magically resurrect the man either. He’s torn between the living and the dead, hiding in between every memory made over years. No matter how hard he tries, the ghost of the past is always right there. Never would he have imagined that feelings for someone could run so deep, you can’t for the hell of it get rid of them altogether.

It’s been years now. How long is he supposed to endure this? And if that’s what Dutch felt after Annabelle died, he could probably not blame the man anymore for losing his mind. Perhaps that had just made it possible for the whole gang to fall apart around them. It had just been the lack of love that brought the turning point.

It might have been just wild reasoning but it made sense. Sadie had also gone mad when she lost her husband. Love is probably a feeling that is as fulfilling as it is dangerous. You can’t change your ways, you can’t change your past and you can’t change what your heart aches for.

His heart aches for Arthur. There had never been a single moment in which it had been any different.

The day he had put his hat on John’s head, that stupid beloved hat of his he’d been wearing for years, said his goodbyes, promised once again to hold them off, to keep him safe - John is sure his heart had stopped beating. The minute he told him to go and not look back, John had died with him. He is now nothing more but a shallow structure that somehow still walks among the living. All because he is tied to a promise he made for himself and for Arthur.

He’s too afraid to let him down, but all of this, it’s so much of what Arthur wanted and not enough of what John wanted.

He wanted to be free, he wanted to be free with Arthur and no one else. That’s what he had wished for every day and when it was time to split and let go, he knew that this would be the only thing he wouldn’t get.

Over time, John’s wishes have changed, altered themselves to more realism. Now all he wishes for is to become a loving husband, a good father. Someone true, someone righteous – someone free of guilt.

He’s neither of these things and it’s devastating.

Maybe he should have left that journal untouched – there are things in life you shouldn’t pull back into present, some things are better left in the past. He should have just taken it and burn the damn thing. How are a few scribbled letters going to comfort him when he can’t function properly from all the mourning? It’s just adding to his pain.

John walks around the dried grass, kicks a few rocks out of his way in almost childlike behavior. He turns his focus back on the sky above and his endless vastness.

There are so many stars out tonight; he wonders if all of them stand for the people that have long left this world. If it holds any answers to all of his questions. Life’s about learning, evolving. Yesterday you have been a different person than today. And a few years back you have loved someone, who rejected you, loved you back, rejected you again and died during the time you finally both understood what it all really meant to love someone so much, you would rather bury yourself in a grave next to them if something ever happened and the two of you couldn’t be together anymore.

That’s exactly what happened. Although, John’s grave was more of a metaphorical kind. It’s the life he lives now, a life without Arthur. That is much like an own personal grave.

Arthur has not always been a good man and maybe, that’s the price he had to pay. To live a life without any form of affection, to withheld his own heart to love someone properly. _“I’m no good catch, John. I don’t make a good lover.”_ How ironic, that to John, he had been nothing but perfect in any way someone could imagine. Arthur was not just a brother that provided protection and strength he could never acquire, he was his soulmate. It’s a cliché word too deep of meaning for John’s taste, but there’s no other way to describe it.

Now that he’s gone, it feels like he had lost his other half.

It’s just a split second in which John stops immediately and freezes in his tracks. He spots a deer on the hillside, grazing peacefully. It’s one of the most majestic creatures John has ever set his eyesight on - and he had certainly seen a lot of deer’s in his life, hunted even more. This is hardly untypical as most animals don’t come that close to the farm, only a few coyotes maybe and there had been a wolf once…but a deer? That is a rare thing to happen. Deer’s are shy animals, they get alarmed easily and flee as soon as they notice the slightest shake near them.

It looks almost unreal. Maybe it isn’t really there. Maybe all the thinking and lack of sleep is causing John to hallucinate.

He hunches down, scouts a little closer. Trying his hardest to not create any unnecessary noise, he doesn’t want to spook this ghostly looking animal. There’s no harm to be done, he just wants to observe.

It hasn’t noticed him yet and stays.

His fur is almost white with a light brown mixed in between, not a single mark, pure and bright like Mother Nature herself had drawn it. His antlers raise high towards the sky as it lifts his head from the ground. John could swear his coal-colored eyes are fixating him as he’s trying really hard to stay still. It almost looks like it blinks at him, giving him an oddly familiar and gentle feeling he can’t either describe or explain but it makes him want to get as close as possible. It radiates a warmth that makes him want to reach out and touch.

John takes another brave step forward and the deer – now fully acknowledging his presence - flees into the darkness of the night, disappears as fast as it appeared out of seemingly nowhere.

He rubs his eyes and shakes his head. He had finally gone crazy as well, that’s it. Heartbreak seems to do that to people, it’s mildly alarming. He has seen a lot of people losing their shit over someone they have loved.

He can’t stay outside forever. He should probably slip back into bed and catch a few hours of sleep, although John is pretty sure that falling asleep is going to be an impossible task from now on.

 

_“You’re goddamn mess, Marston.”_

 

John thinks about the ring and the commitment to Abigail. He thinks about a million things and nothing at all, goes through all of the decisions made in the past to more recent ones made in the present. He wonders if there’s a certain turning point in life in which you feel ready for commitment.

He also wonders if it’s the right time, if he loves her enough – if she deserves being only second choice for the rest of her life - if the only right thing would have been, to bury that ring somewhere along with the journal. Why did Arthur even give it to him? He should have known he’s not fit for that role as a loving husband, not after all what had happened between them.

With Arthur things never happened at the right time. They had waited too long and that didn’t end well. Might be that after all, they should have taken the chance to run off together when it was offered. Even if Arthur would have gotten sick regardless, he could have spent his last years in a calm, peaceful environment instead. It sounds way more appealing to John as to die all alone on a mountain, even if that had been Arthur’s wish all along and it was probably his gift for the many good things he had done in the end.

“Shoulda run away with you when I had the chance” He mumbles under his breath, not caring how silly it sounds.  There’s no one around to overhear and judge him. He faintly cares.

With his sleep deprived mind racing and his good reasoning fading, John makes the decision that he should finally do that visit he had postponed long enough now.

He’s going to ride out these days and visit Arthur’s grave.

 

\---

 

For the whole week to come, John is not really himself. His insomnia continues to interrupt his sleep, so he adds more spontaneous walks outside in the middle of the night, lies straight to Abigail’s face when she asks him if he is alright and generally tries to find peace in the tiniest of tasks.

He assures over and over again he is fine, yet it’s too damn obvious he is not. He feels like shit and he looks like it too.

The work on the ranch offers distraction. In fact, John had never been more ambitious to get his work done. He repairs the roof and some fences, scares off the crows, feeds the animals, cleans the stable and does whatever Abigail asks him to do without much protest. Perhaps that’s exactly what starts to worry Abigail. She stares at him in utter surprise when he suggests he could go to Valentine and get some new wool and garments for her knitting.

John can’t blame her for being suspicious after he gives the whole thing a second thought. The dark circles under his eyes make his offer sound ridiculous and it’s probably for the best that she just shakes his head and doesn’t comment his hopeless attempt of hiding what really bothers him. John can’t share that with her.

They would get into an argument about it. All because John is a stubborn fool that never knows what’s good for him.

He returns home very late one day. After putting up the last of the fences, he decides he can’t stay up all night just to hide from the nightmare that would sure approach him as soon as he closes his eyes. The lack of sleep has taken its toll on John’s body and his mind. He hears and sees things that aren’t there.

There’s this damn deer he had encountered earlier following every step he takes around the farm. He had asked Uncle if he had seen it too but the old man had just given him an unbelieving look full of doubt and advised him to have a strong drink and get some proper rest. "I've seen folks overdoin' it." he had said, with an unusual stern look on his face as he took the hammer out of the younger mans hands. John didn't respond with much resistance, he couldn't even bring himself to snap at the old man like he usually did. He simply feels too tired.

“Go get yourself a drink. Look like you need it, boy.”

John hates to admit it but Uncle isn’t that wrong. He would die for fine bourbon and in Blackwater they definitely sell some of the best, but he knows his trip to the saloon would probably end with him getting thrown out of the window. His temper is too easily tickled nowadays, hence why he avoids the saloon of Blackwater at all cost.

He takes up on Uncles offer and sits down in the grass for a while to rest, watching as the old man continues his work, surprisingly with not much protest. He surely must be worried about him. John however can't continue his thoughts: his eyelids feel so heavy all of the sudden that soon, he can't bring himself to keep his eyes open anymore. His focus gets blurry and he passes out in the grass without noticing.

He doesn't know for how long he had been out but when John opens his eyes again, it's already well past dawn. Uncle is nowhere to be found and he figured, he might have thought to let him sleep. John groans and rubs his eyes as he lifts his body up from the ground, sore and stiff from working all day. The tiredness has not left his body completly but he feels a little better than before.

He had missed dinner and he knows, Abigail is going to be mad. At least he had finally fixed that damn fence, that would hopefully soothe her anger a little.

John kind of expects Abigail to hold him a preaching when he barges into the door, dirty and sweaty and with a lack of explantation. He’s mildly surprised when she doesn’t greet him with one of her sarcastic remarks. She sits at the fireplace and from what John can tell she is knitting yet another blanket.

As if they don’t have enough already in many hideous colors and patterns. He groans internally.

She is either really mad or she just doesn’t care. Either way her silence is all good with him. He doesn’t feel like talking anyway.

They left something for him. His plate is still on the table, untouched. He doesn't even bother checking what she cooked, although he knows he should really eat something. He doesn't feel hungry at all, strange as it is.

John sits down next to her on the sofa to get rid of his boots in complete ignorance as she suddenly looks at him. He’s half prepared to endure her yelling about how she had told him a thousand times already, to take of his boots before he enters the house but instead, her voice is unusually soft and sad sounding.

“Y’know. I miss Arthur as well. I think about him a lot these days.”

This comes out of nowhere and John is by all means, not prepared. One of his boots falls down with a clonk. He stares at her as if he is trying to see right through her, not sure how to deal with what she had just said or how to react to it properly. Beside a few comments here and there, Abigail never mentioned him around John.

“Why’d you say that?” he blurts out, a little too fast and irritated sounding, being the bold, trampling bull that he is sometimes. She furrows her brow at him.

“Why not? You think you’re the only one?” she utters flatly. John’s mind begins to race around possibilities and why she is calling him out like that. It’s her stone-cold clarity that unsettles him deeply. The proofing gaze that rests on him is making him nervous.

She is  also right.

He had always been so caught up with his own feelings, he had completely forgotten about the fact that Arthur was loved by many others as well, especially Abigail – it had been Arthur who had taken care of her and Jack when John went missing for a whole year. Sometimes John wonders if Abigail would have been better off with marrying Arthur. He had said it to her once, in an argument of course, and it had earned him a really painful kick to his privates and a “You are a horrible man, John Marston!”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I-“ he stammers, unsure what to answer. It’s not needed anyway as she continues without awaiting his response. She had long put down her knitting tools.

“John…you have been mentioning him constantly, you call out his name at night sometimes, still we never really talk ‘bout him. I’m no fool. I see what I see. I just never asked you because I didn’t want to upset you.” she states solemnly. John tries to find anger in her voice, or even disappointment but there isn’t any. Not a single trace, but there should be. After all he had put her through, after all of his talking about Arthur, the longing in his voice…

He deserves Abigail’s anger more than ever.

For some reason he suspects her to know more than she’s ready to give away. If that is a good or a bad sign that he really can’t tell. There’s panic building up inside him, he merely wills it away by playing dumb with her.

“Upset? Me? I ain’t. I’m good.” It’s a bold lie and she’s not someone to be lied to. Unlike him, Abigail is sensitive to every lie, every change in behavior and every gesture.

“No, you’re not. You’re still grievin’ and hurtin’. I see it in your eyes.” Her words are sharp. They get through him like some well-prepared gunshots, to lay bare the true, vulnerable self of John Marston.

Is he being that obvious?

John can’t help it, he lets out a humorless laugh and in the next second he’s back to being unforgiving and mean to her.

“Well since you’re so great at that apparently, what else you see? You wanna tell me something lady?” he lashes out. Guilt is coiling up in his stomach, creating an uncomfortable burning. He is not sure if he can bear staring into her eyes any longer, but Abigail keeps her gaze on him with bold resistance, puts a hand on his face to force him back to looking her straight in the eye when he turns away in hidden embarrassment.

“I want you to stop lyin’ and be honest to yourself.” She tries carefully and John already knows where this is supposed to be going. He slaps her hand away, more harshly than he intended to.

“I ain’t lying. I’m just…tired that’s all. It’s been a long day. Y’know that ranch is not gonna manage itself. There’s me doin’ all the work.” He bites back with venom. Her eyes grow wide, like they always do in an argument, shortly before her annoyance flares up like a fire.

“John Marston, I swear-…you’re the worst!”

“Now ain’t that the truth.” He responds sarcastically. He doesn’t like hurting her but she keeps on pushing him.

What is it with her goddamn curiosity all the time anyway?

It almost seems like the conversation has found its end after taking such an unforeseen turn and John is ready to leave for the bedroom and be done with it. He has heard enough. Abigail obviously has other plans: She grabs his wrists and holds him still once he stands up and John lets it happen instead of just yanking his wrist out of her grip.

“Stay. Please.” Her eyes make up for the lack of words exchanged. John knows she wants to talk about Arthur. It’s plastered all over her face. Hell, even that blind fella he had stumbled upon at the side of the road a few days ago could have sensed that.

 “Abigail I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, alright? You always tellin’ me to leave things in the past and-…I can’t talk ‘bout Arthur, you just gotta accept that.” He proclaims coldly. Abigail’s gaze is mirroring the words leaving her lips that make John’s blood run cold the moment he fully grasps what she has just said.

“Gotta accept what? That you loved him? I accepted that a long time ago John.”

It’s her sober statement that makes John completely freeze in his tracks, with his mouth going dry in the process. Knowledge settles on him but he can’t seem to find the right words, in fact he comes up with nothing but a blank stare.

 

_She knows. She knows all about what you’ve done to her._

 

His mind is on full alarm now. She had just confirmed it, spoke it out aloud what he had always tried to hide from her. It simultaneously scares him about what’s coming next and on the other hand, he feels kind of relieved it’s finally out in the open. Hiding it for such a long time had not been easy and yet he kept his mouth shut about it.

 

Y _es, I loved him. I loved him more than I could have ever loved you.  
_

 

His mind adds quickly. Guilt is such an awful feeling. Why is he like that?

The old John would have spoken it out unabashedly, would have shoved it right in her face.

He wasn’t like that anymore. This time he swallows his pride and the ugly truth that had crossed his mind seconds ago. It’s easier to pretend that he doesn’t know what she’s referring to.

“The hell you’re talkin’ ‘bout?” his eyes never leave hers, as if he half expects her to take back what she had just assumed.

But Abigail is not someone to take anything back she has said. Her words feel like tiny bullets perforating the safe shield he had built around his heart. And the truth lays bare for them to see.

“Oh don’t you play dumb with me, John! You’re so full of shit. I’ve seen a lot of folks. I’ve seen men loving men folk, I’ve seen women loving woman folk. I’ve seen men loving both men and women!  It’s not as unnatural as you think it is. All these years ridin’ with men, with all of you, you think I did not notice how much he meant to you? you was worshippin’ the ground he walked upon. Arthur was one stubborn son of a bitch but…it wasn’t one sided y’know? He adored you. He really did.”

He doesn’t know where she is taking her information from or why she so stubbornly insists to have seen right through them ages ago. Abigail never knew Arthur as well as John did. She didn’t know what kind of man he was, how calm and endlessly frustrating he could be, how proud and honest his love was, their love to each other. She doesn’t understand half of it. She is not allowed to judge.

All that he knows is, that he wants her to stop because his safe guard is threatening to collapse under the weight of her words.

One thing John Marston is not ready to admit himself – that he’s wrong all the way and Abigail is right.

“You don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout woman. Not makin’ any sense.”

She won’t give up. Abigail is a she wolf, a true, merciless hell of a beast. She has long encircled him as her prey and she’s just mere seconds away from breaking his neck with just a solid bite of her teeth. John can’t do much anymore – he’s wounded and vulnerable. He can just hope she makes it quick.

Ironically that had been one of the many reasons that had drawn John to her ages ago. It had always deeply impressed him how strong and persevering she could be – now it just scared him. She had the same approach Arthur had whenever he tried to get the truth out of him. There is the same intensity in these deep blue orbs of her, like the bottom of an endless sea spreading in front of him which depths he is not meant to fathom.

The similarity kills him. It’s like Arthur is sitting next to him.

“I know damn well what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! John I’m not mad at you for being the way you are. I know we can’t chose whom we love. That’s why I fell in love with you, goddammit. God knows I could’ve done a lot better than you, but still…it’s always been you that I wanted! I’m just so mad at you for thinkin’ I wouldn’t understand. And for keepin’ it a secret for so long!” she explains and it makes sense, dammit. It all makes sense now. The looks exchanged, her snapping at him all the time for no reason at all, the questions...

 

_All of them goddamn questions_.

 

John silently admits his defeat. Fighting is senseless at this point. No lie could be good enough to hide the sober truth, the facts with which she had just confronted him.

He might as well be honest for a change now. He sits down back next to her, putting on of his hands shyly on top of her knee. She lets it happen but her whole body is tense against his touch, as if it doesn’t sit right with her that they touch in this very moment. John can feel her inner struggle.

“Abigail it wouldn’t have changed anythin’, me an’ Arthur…that was long time ago! And it was complicated, alright? You-, I-I-I…look you wouldn’t have understand!” John tries to find the right words, realizes quickly he’s just making it worse by presenting her such a seemingly weak excuse when she expected so much more from him. She shoves his hand away and gets a safe distance between them.

“You’re a pathetic liar, John Marston! Why don’t you just say it already!?” she screams, fists balled and standing up to her full height now. She was smaller than him so it wasn’t really all too intimidating. Her wrath however was something else. She could be as ill-tempered as John sometimes and she was scary when she was angry. John had seen her giving a good beating to some folks, there was no good reason left for her to not give him the same procedure.

And her eyes were glistening. There were tears welling up in her eyes.

 

_God, no. Just don’t…_

 

“Say what, woman? What you want me to say?” John hollers back, helpless to the whole situation. He had never been good with these things – not knowing if he should hug her or rather back off for his own safety. Abigail is too hard to interpret, too complicated to understand – in fact she’s just like Arthur but in her own personal way.

He’s afraid of what’s coming next, although he already suspects just as much by the way she’s trying to prevent any form of affection coming from him. When he reaches out to take her hands, she just backs off and shakes her head.

“That you love him more than me! I know it John, I just know it. He’s long gone but you still can’t let Arthur go. Do you have any idea how hard it is to love someone and no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be first choice? I feel like you just chose me over him because he wanted you to. He rejected you.” she is growing rather hysterical, her voice breaking in between words. The way she stands in front of him, with tears now streaming down her beautiful face, it makes John finally feel what kind of consequences laid in his betrayal. Perhaps he could have done better by letting go of her; it wouldn’t have caused her all this pain. It now seemed pretty rich that he had expected to keep both Abigail and Arthur.

What exactly did he wish for? That the three of them would live happily ever after?

Her words stung. They hurt, they really did. Not because she was trying to make them hurt, because it was partly true. For so many years to pass, he had thought that Abigail, Mary, Eliza, Dutch and the whole gang stood in between him and Arthur. That all of them were the reasons they never had a chance together. Over time though, John had learnt it didn’t sprawl out that easily: They could have run away together but Arthur didn’t want to. So in response, John found himself Abigail, got her pregnant and killed off that last bit of hope that was left.

It was his fault as much as it was Arthur’s. There was no talking out of that.

“He rejected me ‘cause of you and Jack. And then I rejected him-…Shit, you think it’s really that easy? It’s not. Abigail, you look at me, alright?” he touches her arms and for a moment it looks like she wants to wrestle out of his grip, get away from the intense look in his eyes. John knows that he has only two options left: he can either run and leave her like that or stay and be a goddamn man for a change.

He settles for the only true thing in this case.

 “Listen, darlin’. I love you. Always did. That’s not gonna change. It’s true…I loved Arthur, hell I think I still do. I always will. But he’s not there anymore. You are what matters to me now. You and Jack.” His honesty gets through to her at some point. He can feel her relax in his grip, although she still doesn’t look all too convinced with his confession.

 “I hope so.”

“Hope’s all we got left sometimes, darlin’.”

“I just feel like you don’t want all of this with me. And then I feel like a horrible person for thinkin’ that way.” She sniffles softly, throwing herself against his chest finally, declaring surrender. He puts his arms around her immediately, holds her until her sobbing subsides – like a good, loving husband would do. She feels so small and fragile against him all at the sudden. As if all of her strength had suddenly left her. It’s one of these moments in which John feels completely overwhelmed with her and it makes it all too clear why he kind of preferred Arthur’s company most of the time. With Arthur, he could be the one to let loose, he always had the safety he provided.

He doesn’t know how to handle her at her weakest. He can endure her shouting and calling him names – but this?

It’s always been a challenge to him.

“You’re the best woman I know.” John expresses honestly, pressing her closer to his body.

In between her tears, she starts to laugh softly. It’s the first compliment John has made her in an awfully long time and he had thought it might be a good start.

“Have you ever spent time around decent women? I highly doubt that. So that’s probably out of question.” He places a kiss on her forehead.

“I know I’m a fool and I’m sorry you have to keep up with me.”

She sighs beneath his chest.

“You’re not one for big words, John. Never was.” John smiles and strokes a strand of her hair away from her face.

“Still that never kept you from fallin’ for me.” He jokes to light up the mood a bit. Abigail fails to keep her stern face. There is even a soft smile cracking at her lips when she gives a nudge to his side. She’s equally as bad as confessing her real feelings.

That kind of makes them perfect for each other.

“You shut up now, you dumb man.”

They stay like this for a while, ceasing speech. John keeps her in his embrace when he continues talking after what seemed like a whole eternity.

“Sometimes I feel like I can never stop loving him. And that scares me ‘cause that means that pain of not having him here with me will stick with me for as long as I live.” He explains, his words cut through the silence. She looks up at him and there’s something very much like comfort and understanding in her blue eyes. Strange thing, she – again - had the same look now Arthur had given him many times. Or maybe he was just going crazy.

“Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing? One way or another, we’ll always carry those we have lost along the way in our hearts forever. It’s kind of comforting.” Her hands wander up and down his back in a soothing manner and it does wonders to John’s restless mind. He’s just glad she’s here with him – and he’s not alone. In fact, after Dutch and Hosea had rescued him from these filthy homesteaders, not a single day had passed in which he had been truly alone.

“You think one man can love another man and a woman at once?”

“I don’t see why not. There’s a lot of love in our hearts sometimes. Sometimes it’s too much to just share it with one person, I guess.”

John smiles broadly and strokes her neck lovingly. How is it with her, that all of her explanations make so much damn sense? He’s lucky to call her his. She’s indeed the bravest and toughest woman he had ever known. He could have done certainly a lot worse. Not many women share Abigails wit and intellectual.

“That sounded a lot like Hosea.”

“That’s cause he said it to me once. When I talked to him…about you and Arthur.”

John groans but he is in fact not surprised anymore or shocked. He had his suspicions all the time and they were now just proofed right. Such a shame, he will never have another chance to rewind time and tell Hosea the truth instead of lying straight to his face. Now that he came to think about it, there had never been a reason to be scared. Maybe things with Arthur could have taken a different turn then, if he wouldn’t have been so much of a coward all the time.

He had just been scared of himself, he guessed. Of his own feelings mostly and what it all meant.

“Jesus Christ woman. Who else knew? Seems to me like the whole damn gang knew at some point.”

“No one else but me, Sadie and Hosea. I guess you can figure out yourself why certain people weren’t allowed to know.” She had a point there but that’s not what really bothers John. He had always wondered about something else and he finally needed to know now.

“Did he mind?”

Relief washes over him when Abigail shakes her head.

“Not at all. Hosea loved you and Arthur like you was his own sons. And I guess he rather liked seeing you getting along with each other than hatin’ on one another. He was just worried the two of you would run off together one day. Then he would have been mad. And he was scared that if Dutch ever found out, he would manipulate the two of you enough to…well…you know how he was.”

John laughs bitterly. What a conscience. _Way to hit the nail on the head, Hosea._

That always had been his strongest talent. Too see and to know things. It came to him so naturally that he never had to say anything. He just observed people and instantly sensed their biggest discomforts.

“Ya know…that had been planned but Arthur never wanted to. Couldn’t really convince him.”

John confesses, he doesn’t know why he shouldn’t. It doesn’t make a difference anymore. It’s strange that once you start to be honest, you can’t stop.

Abigail leans closer into him as if she never wants to let go. Her words are soft and almost a whisper.

“You see, that’s why he always was the wiser one of you two. He knew things, knew the consequences they held. You didn’t…or you didn’t want to know.”

And all John can think of is, that she couldn’t have said it better, that right now in this moment, he couldn’t agree more with her and that he’s thankful, she’s not making it any harder on him.

“Abigail?”

“What is it?”

He looks down rather nervously, not sure how to describe what is going through his head right now.

“You think we can make this work? Us, I mean. I’m not gonna lie, darlin’…my heart will always-…yeah, kind of belong to Arthur. And-…I guess I really wanna try to love you. Like…I love you already but I want to try harder-” she cuts his rambling off by pressing a finger to his mouth.

“I think all we can do is try John and then…we’ll see if it’s good enough.”

“Woah that doesn’t sound all too promisin’.”

“It’s all that’s left.” He senses how it’s meant instantly. Through these years of living with each other there had been a lot of misunderstandings and fights – some bad, some worse. Actually they had exchanged more insults than affections for the longest time and Abigail’s trust in him had taken quite a beating. It would take some time to repair what’s been broken during that time.

John suddenly remembers the days upon days he spent building this place. How the days stretched and turned into months – how he tried his very best to finish what he had started despite the circumstances and he had all done it because Abigail had mentioned it once when they still lived in that cabin on Pronghorn Ranch. He had been close to giving up a few times, there was no denial. The whole process of building this house was a lot like his relationship to Abigail – the base may have been crooked but there was still a lot to build upon and he didn’t know yet, when he would be finished – if ever. He had created all of this for her. Abigail gave life and soul to this empty building. Without her, it was just a bunch of wooden planks put together.

“I’m afraid I’ll never forget Arthur.” He admits weakly.

“You don’t have to forget him, John. Don’t ever forget someone who meant so much to you.” she puts her hand on his chest, right above where his heart beats. “You keep him right there. But you gotta try to let go of the past and move on.”

John nods and smiles, seemingly in a loss of words. He kind of never deserved Abigail, she is just too good for him, always would be. He should be grateful, grateful for every damn day he gets to spend with her – God knows John had given her plenty of reasons to pack her bags and run off. It’s pathetic it took him so long to realize that.

She is not Arthur, never will be – but perhaps she doesn’t have to be.

“With you, that always sounds so damn easy.” Blue eyes bore into brown ones.

“It’s not John. Remember, you’re not the only one who lost someone. Arthur might have been somethin’ different to you, but he was my friend too, the dearest I’ve ever had. Hosea was like a father to me. I’ve been there y’know. I also lost them. This gang was my family as well. All of them. But we have a family of our own now. And that’s what matters.”

“Damn woman, always with the wise words.” He would have added an honest “I love you” just for the sake of her deserving it even more in this moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to pronounce it yet. Something was holding him back.

Abigail understood his inner turmoil – she took his pause as an opportunity to kiss him. To show him, that more words are sometimes not needed.

John melts into the kiss and forgets all of his grief, if just for this moment.

“I’m gonna ride out to Arthur’s grave tomorrow.” He says as they part. Abigail nods and entangles their hands, adding not much more but this single gesture.

“You do that, John. I hope it brings you the peace you’re searchin’ for.”

 

\----

 

_Dear John_ ,

_When you read this, I’ll probably be dead already._

_There’s so much more I would have wanted to tell you but it seemed like, we always met at the wrong end of the rope._

_I wrote this after we talked on that mountain. You were right, it ain’t fair I’m leaving you behind like this. For that I’m eternally sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t be there to watch you while you become the man you were always meant to be. You were so much more than just a thief and a skilled gunsman John and I think, after all these years, you finally understood how to be righteous and true to yourself. And that’s worth more than being a robbing, killing idiot with no sense for what matters._

_Actually, I think you were the bravest man I’ve ever known. Cause you never gave up on love, like I did. Damn, you had quite the attitude to always come back at me about it. And I had no defense left._

_I’m not leaving you behind with a single bad thing on my mind. If I go and leave this world, I’ll hope I get to spend my last seconds with you somehow. I don’t know if I’m allowed to wish for that, for as I have sinned enough to be sent straight to hell. You know me, I’ve never been very religious. But there’s no place in heaven for men like us. So I don’t have high expectations of whatever awaits me._

_I wasn’t as annoyed with you as I showed. I never really hated you, not even after you’ve run off for a year. I was just scared you’d never come back and it made me almost hate you – but  I’m a weak fool and the heart wants what it wants I guess. It always came out the wrong way whenever I tried because I’m bitter and hopeless and not suited for any kind of relationship. I certainly never deserved you feeling so strongly about an old, stubborn bastard like me. I was so proud of being good at what I did, that there wasn’t even space or time to provide for the ones I loved. At some point, I was Dutch’s puppet. I don’t blame him. You should neither. He’s mad but he’s got a good side to him, boy. He tried his best and I gave him all I had, I don’t regret that. He was closer to being a father figure than my dad ever could have been. But I know he’s not gonna make it far in this world. With Dutch being Dutch, he probably knows that as well. Civilization has overwhelmed good old Dutch. He’s an relict of the old world, just as I’am. And he knows there’s no place for us no more. We can’t outrun fate, you know that._

_I’m bad at talking about my feelings. That’s why I stick to my journal and writing things down. There’s a lot of stuff I thought about. There was just no time for explaining left. That’s why I’m giving you all of my stuff. If you go through it, you may understand it more. At least I hope so. Thinking was not your strongest trait.  
_

_John, the best moments in my life were the ones I got to spend with you and the gang and for that I’ll be grateful. It saddens me that the direction we took in life sentenced us all to die at some point. I guess at the end, we were just a bunch of crazy fools, pretending to make the world a different place. But all it ever did was change us. When Lenny and Sean died, it really broke something in me and I couldn’t go on like I used to. Poor Kids, they didn’t deserve any of the shit that’s been happening to them. Lenny reminded me a lot about you, when you was younger. He was just a little more reserved and not as angry as you._

_Thank God, wouldn’t have been able to deal with two idiots of your kind. He’s had the same naïve nature as you though._

_He was so good…too good to be part of this gang._

_I hope the rest of them make it out alive. I did my best. In the end I really did. I can just hope it was enough._

_I’d always thought to get shot or hanged. I assume we always expect ourselves to go from this world in a more heroic way. And for many months to follow, I was not ready to accept that I would be dying because I was sick. But this way I had time to set some things right.  
_

_It was the price I had to pay I guess. When our time’s up and our luck have run out, we all gotta pay the price for the things we’ve done. You know I was a bad man, John. I was ruthless and did some really horrible things, I can’t even forgive myself. For the longest time, I couldn’t tell what it was, when all of these doubts against Dutch began. In the end someone needs to get the job done. And I’m the kind of guy who gets the job done. I was always the guy who gets the job done. I was reliable. And I was proud of that. Beside that, I had never done much…just for me. Before it all went to hell, I tried to do something for me. Do things that were important to me. That was the only reason we took onto that little ride together. I guess I just wanted to ride with you one last time._

_Damn John, it felt like old times._

_I had a price of 5000 $ on my head alone. I got shot at, I got kidnapped, I got mauled by several animals and then a fella coughs at me and I’m weltering away. What a fucking mess._

_But you always had way more to lose than I did. You got a family, John. The most important thing of all. I’m just realizing that now. And that’s why I’m always been such a nuisance to you. Didn’t want anything happening to you or Abigail or Jack. Jack is such a good kid. He reminds me of my son Isaac, who would probably still be alive, if I wouldn’t have made such wrong decisions in the past. I had the chance to live a different life once and I didn’t take the chance when it was offered. Don’t be stupid like I was._

_You take good care of him and help him, to forget all about he has seen. No kid should ever see the things little Jack had seen. And take care of Abigail too, she’s a good woman, a strong one. You’re decent folks, the best kind. You deserve to live a long life in peace._

_I know how you felt about me. I always knew. Don’t think I didn’t understand, ‘cause I felt the same. With all my broken heart could afford, I’ve loved you. I loved you so much, it scared me. That’s why I kept my distance; I was too scared to break you apart. Forgive me. I’ve never made a suitable partner. I never was as brave as you were. I couldn’t speak it out loud. But Abigail can, and that’s why I didn’t want you to choose me over her._

_Trust me, one day you’ll understand. My time had long run out when we found each other._

_I’m full of doubts. Whenever I thought about what you said, I know it was not going to become reality. You know what they do to men like us if they find out. It would have gotten ugly. And we would have spent our whole life being on the run. Maybe you’d like that, you once said, you’d rather be on the run with me for your entire life as long as I don’t leave you, but’s there’s a time in every man’s life when he should retire and settle down. Live a good life, a normal life – like decent folks out there. Be a good father and a good husband. I know you might not love Abigail as you love me, but try to at least. She deserves your love way more than I did. Don’t tie your heart to a dead man, John Marston. You damn fool._

_Don’t you forget about me. Don’t mourn me, as I’ll be always in your thoughts and you’ll always be in mine._

_Don’t seek revenge, for it’s a fools game and has never done any good. Leave that behind. Let it rest._

_My endless love,_

_Arthur Morgan_

 

After that, there is nothing more to read. The last page ever written in Arthur’s journals, was a sappy, romantic letter to John. For a split second it feels rather untypical for Arthur to write such words but when he remembers the last time they had spent together, after they had returned to camp. He had observed Arthur as he had sat on his cot and eagerly scribbled away in his journal – for what seemed like hours at least. He had looked sad at first but rather relieved and even happy when he had finished. The page before that was just a mess of hastily written words that didn’t make much sense. It just shows how serious Arthur took the whole mission on getting him and his family safely out of this whole mess with Dutch and what’s been left of that gang.

Now John knows the reason to that was to leave something behind for him to find when the moment was right. He must’ve planned it all out. Arthur never left anything to coincidence, just as you would expect it from him. _I was reliable. And I was proud of that._

And that moment had come now.

John puts his fingers over every word, tracing Arthur’s sloppy handwriting as if he could feel the love with which his hand had guided the pencil. He then closes it and looks at the wooden cross before him, embraced by flowers and plants of all origins. The sun truly sets down on it rather beautifully.

Couldn’t have picked a better spot himself if he tried.

“It’s been a while, old friend.” He says, his voice sounding broken. He doesn’t know what else he is supposed to do and kind of regrets for coming up here. What exactly did he expect to find here but a silent grave on top of a mountain?

“I don’t really know what to say.” He admits loudly, realizes it gets easier to talk to someone who’s not really there. Once he had jumped over his own shadow, the words leave his mouth all naturally, as if he’s truly talking to his old companion and almost lover. Rachel looks up and makes her presence known by pawing her hooves into the ground and neighing softly.

“I guess I just came up here to tell you I miss you. I always will. And this will be the last time I’m doin’ so. I know why you gave me that ring and I’m gonna do it Arthur…I’m gonna ask Abigail to marry me and-…I hope that’s okay with you?” he feels a little stupid for asking. The grave remains silent, there’s just a soft breeze coming through. Cold, almost ghostly – but it doesn’t answer his question.

“Yeah, thought so.” He grunts sarcastically, swallowing the lump starting to form in his throat.

For the first time in years, tears well up in his eyes. He just notices because his sight gets blurry all of the sudden. He roughly rubs his eyes with the gloved backside of his hand before he truly starts to bawl like an idiot. John Marston had never really grieved anyone – mostly because in between running there had never been the time to do so and once you had the time, you realized you had grown numb, unable to recall what you’ve felt. He had grieved Hosea, hell he had even grieved that old hag Miss Grimshaw, that Kieran Duffy guy he had never really talked to, Lenny, Sean. He had grieved the ending of his loyalty to Dutch for the longest time as well…everyone that was part of this put together family he had grown up and spend most of his life with had a certain spot in John’s heart.

_But you promised yourself to never cry_.

He reminds himself bitterly.

To hell with all this promises made.

“So this is really and truly the end I suppose. I’m not gonna come back Arthur. I just want you to know…I’ll never forget you. You’ll always be with me. You’ll always be in my heart. And I wish we could have-…well, I dunno what I wish. I’m sure y’know.” He sniffles. More tears well up in his eyes before John grows too tired to wipe them away – he just lets them fall

The sun is softly setting, putting a vibrant glow around the cross and the words engraved in it. It’s almost as if Arthur is listening to him.

Despite the sadness that keeps a tight grip around John’s heart, as it has been for years now, he smiles softly, feeling for some reason, he might be getting on a lot easier now. He taps his hat to an invisible presence, smiles beneath his weathered features. This hat Arthur had been wearing for all of his life, as if he wanted to keep things a certain way. John never understood why.

Now he does.

“Goodbye, Arthur Morgan. I love you.”

 

When he mounts Rachel and rides away again, he knows that one day, they’ll be together again - if just in a different form than before. And the thought kind of comforts him.

 

_See you on the other side, cowboy._

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, this is it. I finally finished this lenghty bastard. I hope this last parts didn't come off as put-together scribbles because a few parts were written at different stages of this story but I really wanted to include Arthur's journal. I just wanted to have something light and peaceful to finish with - poor John, I sure put him through a lot of trauma and heartbreak. If you're still around: Thank you for reading! It really means a lot to me to know that people enjoyed reading it. I have quite a few ideas/headcanons for other stories up in my sleeve, some written down, some are just still in my head. I definitly will contribute more to this fandom. xx

**Author's Note:**

> This was usually planned as a one shot, I don't know if that softly shimmers through here and there. In between writing I had so many other plans (I HAD A GODDAMN PLAN ARTHUR.) with what I wanted to do with this story and well...weeks passed and this turned into one lenghty monster of a fic! I think this is my longest one so far if you don't count the ones I did for other fandoms. I even deleted some parts I wanted to get in there since it either didn't fit the pace of the story and tbh: it's already long enough and yeah...might as well leave a few things to your imagination. Kudos and Comments of all kinds are encouraged and very welcome xxx updates will hopefully come regulary.


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